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About Google Book Search Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web at|http: //books .google .com/I ^^♦'"""•"^ j^rMA-^J^V-''' .now mao^ j^f-^^u-yi i ^^ 1 ■ • ■■ ' ■ " "• K ■■ i. • •riCAL Work J ■ < MliWU.1 « ■!• tiSlIKM ■ ./ THE POETICAL WORKS JOHN KEATS I BDITIONS AND OTMBR AUTMBNTIC SOURCBS BV H. BUXTON FORMAN COHFLETE EDITEOH NEW YORK THOMAS Y. CROWF.LL & CO. PUBLISHERS ■"'^%«r %/!,'•'-* " CONTENTS. Biographical Sketch. Naihan Haskell Dole ix Poems [published in 1S17'] i Editor's Nole before Poems of 1817 2 Dedication. To Lei^h Hunt, Esq 3 AdvertLsement 4 " I stood lip-tne upua a little hill" 5 Specimen of an Induction to a Poem II Ulidoie. A Fragment 14 To Some Indies 19 On receiving n curious Shell, and a Copy of Verses, from the same To* • • • f"Hadsllhouliv'd!n'dayK"ofold"] 1 '.'.'. I2 To Hope 23 Imitation of Spenser aS " Woman '. when I behold thee flippant, vain " .... 36 Epistles To George Felton M.ithew 2S To my lirother (Seorge 30 To Charles Cowden Clarke 34 Sonnets I. To my llrother George 38 n. To 39 in. Written on Ihe day that Mr. Leigh Hunt left Prison . 40 IV. " How many Iranls gild (he lapses of time ! " . . . 41 V. To a Friend who sent me some Kosea .... 43 VI. To G. A. W. [deorgiana AugusU Wylie] .... 43 VII. "O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell'' ... 43 VIII. To my Brothers 44 IX. " Keen, tilful gusts are whiap'ring here and there " . . 45 X. "To one who has been lung in cily pent" ... 4; XI. On first looking into Chapman's Homer .... 46 XII. On leaving some Friends al an early Hour . . . 4S XIII. Addressed to Haydon 48 XIV. Adilressed to Ihe same 49 XV. On Ihe Grasshopper and Cricket 49 XVI. To Kosciusko 50 XVII, "Happy is England 1" 51 Sleep and Poetry 53 V CONTENTS. EndVMION; a Poetic Romance Editor'9 Note before Endymlon 65 Original Preface, tejeelBi in favour of the foregoing ... 68 Rejected Title and Dedication 69 LAMtA, ISAKELLA,&C. [pubUlhed in iSjo] Editor'3 Note before Limia, Isabella. &c 219 Editor's Note before Lamia JM Eiiitor'5 Note before Isabella 143 IsaiwUa; or, IbcPlotof BasiL A Story from Hoccacdo ... 245 Editor's Note before The Eve of Si. Agnes 263 Ode ["Bards of Pa.wion and of Mirth"] 301 Lines on tb^- Mermaid Tavern 305 CONTENTS. PAOB Posthumous and Fugitive Poems, continued. Sonnet written in Disgust of Vulgar Superstition .... 364 Sonnet [" After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains "] . . 365 Sonnet written on a Blank Space at the end of Chaucer's Tale of The Floure and the Lefe 366 Sonnet to Haydon with the following 367 Sonnet on seeing the Elgin Marbles 367 Sonnet on a Picture of Leander 368 To [" Think not of it, sweet one, so ; — "] . . . . 369 Lines [" Unfelt, unheard, unseen,*'] 370 Sonnet on the Sea 371 * Sonnet on Leigh Hunt's Poem The Story of Rimini . . . 372 Fragment ["Where's the Poet?"] 372 Fragment: Modern Love 373 Fragment of The Castle Builder 373 Fragment [** Welcome joy, and welcome sorrow,"] . . . 375 Sonnet [" When I have fears that I may cease to be "] . . 376 Sonnet to Homer 376 A Draught of Sunshine [" Hence Burgundy, Caret, and Port,"] 377 Faery Song ["Shed no tear — O shed no tear! "] ... 378 Faery Song [" Ah ! woe is me ! poor silver- wing ! "] . . . 379 Song [" Spirit here that reignest ! "] 380 Stanzas [" In a drear-nighted December,"] 381 Sonnet. The Human Seasons 382 Lines on seeing a Lock of Milton's Hair 383 Sonnet on sitting down to read King I^ar once again . . . 384 Sonnet to the Nile 385 What the Thrush said: Lines from a Letter to John Hamilton Reynolds 386 Sonnet [" Blue ! ' Tis the life of heaven, — "] . . . . 387 Sonnet to John Hamilton Reynolds 388 Teignmouth : " Some Doggerel," sent in a Letter to B. R. Hay- don 388 The Devon Maid: Stanzas sent in a Letter to B. R. Haydon . 391 Epistle to John Hamilton Reynolds 392 Dawlish Fair 396 Fragment of an Ode to Maia, written on May Day 1 81 8 . . 396 Song [" Hush, hush ! tread softly ! " ] 397 Extracts from an Opera " O ! were I one of the Olympian twelve," .... 398 Daisy's Song 398 Folly's Song 399 Song [" The Stranger lighted from his steed "] . . . 400 "Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!" . . . 400 Sharing Eve's Apple 401 Song [" I had a dove and the sweet dove died ; "] , . . 402 Sonnet to a Lady seen for a few Moments at Vauxhall . . 402 Acrostic : Georgiana Augusta Keats 403 Sonnet on visiting the Tomb of Bums 404 i CONTENTS. ^Posthumous and Fucitivb Poems, conlinutd. Meg Merriliea 405 A Song bIjoui Myself 407 Sonnet IQ Ailsa Rock 410 Sonnet wnlten in Ihe Collage where Burns was born . . . 41 1 Lanes written in the Hjghlanilii after a visit to Burns'a Country . 412 The Gadfly 414 Sonnet on hearing the Bog-pipe and seeing The Stranger played at Inverary 417 Stafftt 41S Sonnet wriKen upon the Top of Ben Nevis 420 A Prophec)': to George Keats in America 421 Translation from a Sonnet of RonsartI 422 Spenserian Stanw written al the Close of Canto II, Book V, of The Faerie Queeiie 423 The Eve of Saint Mark: a Fragment 424 Ode to Fanny 41S Ode on Indolence 430 Sonnet ["Why did I laugh to-night?"] 433 Sonnet; a Dream, al^er readijig Dante's Episode of Paulo and Francesca 433 Spenserian Stanias on Charles Armitage Brown .... 435 Sonnet [" If hy dull thymes "] 436 Song of Four Faeries 436 Two Sonnets on Fame 440 Nonsense Verses. On Oxford . Sonnet to Mrt. Reynolds'* Cat A Callaway Song Ben Nevis; A Dialogue Women, Wine and Snuff Two or Three An Exlempoie Appendix. I. Review by Leigh Hunt o! Keats'* first volume of Poems C'8'7) 593 II. Four sonnets from Leigh Hunt's /v/ia^f .... 6o2 III. Sonnet written on the blank leaf of Keats'* Poems (1817) by Charles Oilier 604 IV. Letter from Messrs. C. & J. Oilier to George Keals concern- ing Keats's Poems (1S17) 604 V, Review of EnJymioii published in Tht Quarltrly Kniiew in iSiS 605 VI. Review of Emiymion and Lamia &c., published in Tht Edinburgh KcDirxm \%IQ 610 VII. Review by Leigh Hunt of Zaniit, /.!eha1f that I never beard a word of dis- (rom any one, superior or equal, who had known him." Of his home life almosl nothinjr is known. On page 408 of the present 'lere is a bit of doggerel verse which is said to be autobiographic. It imply means he was fond of pets. Toward the end of his school course Keals ~ 'cnly developed a great passion for reading. . He pored over Lempriere's ssical Dictionary," Tooke'i "Pantheon," and Tind.il's School abridgment pence's " Polymeas." He devoured all the Imoks of history, travel, and BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xi known as the author of " Orion ") threw a snowball at him. The other boys expected a lively skirmish, but Home took to his heels and got off ** scot free " ! This is the only picture of him in that capacity, says Sidney Colvin, who quotes the anecdote on the authority of Edmund Gosse. But during his brief apprenticeship, uneventful ^ it seemed, there was one door opened in his life which probably conditioned its fame. He was in the habit of walking over to Enfield once a week to read and talk with Cowden Clarke. Some time early in 1812 Clarke let him take a copy of Spenser's •* FaSrie Queene," and he says : " He romped through the scenes of the ro- mance, like a young horse turned into a spring meadow." When any felici- tous adjective or phrase attracted his attention " he would hoist himself up and look burly and dominant," saying (for instance), "What an image that is — sea-shouldering whales.*' How many dormant wings of genius has not Spenser, "the poet's poet," quickened to soar! Charles Brown, Keats's most intimate friend, says : " In Spenser's fairy land he was enchanted, breathed in a new world, and became another being; till, enamoured of the stanza, he attempted to imitate it, and succeeded. This account of the sudden development of his poetic powers I first received from his brothers, and afterwards from himself." On page 26 will be found these stanzas, which if not especially Spenserian in style are certainly interesting from a biographical point of view. Sonnets and other forms of verse followed, but he showed them to no one for several years, not until the spring of 181 5, when he timidly made his friend Clarke his confidant. Meantime, he was beginning to find surgery and his secret worship of the Muses incompatible. Sometime in 18 14, more than a year before the expira- tion of his apprenticeship, he quitted Mr. Hammond, who allowed the indent- ures to be cancelled. No one knows either the exact time or the cause, and the proof of any quarrel rests upon an enigmatical phrase of a letter, the correct- ness of which is in dispute. Keats himself denied that he abandoned surgery in favor of poetry. He did not immediately abandon it. He continued his studies at St. Thomas's Hospital, and in July, 181 5, passed his examination at Apothecaries' Hall, and the following March was appointed a " dresser " at Guy's Hospital. He often scribbled doggerel verses in his fellow-students' note-books, but in his own he seems to have confined himself to taking full notes. Mr. Colvin remarks, as the "only signs of a wandering mind," quite " prettily touched" sketches of pansies and other flowers, decorating the margins of one manu- script note-book. The real reason for abandoning the practice of surgery seems to have been his lack of confidence in himself. \Vhen Cowden Qarke once asked him about his studies at the hospital, he replied : " The other day, for instance, during the lecture, there came a sunbeam into the room, and with it a whole troop of creatures floating in the ray, and I was off with them to Oberon and fairy land." His last operation was the opening of a man's temporal artery. He told Brown that he did it "with the utmost nicety," but his dexterity seemed a miracle and he never dared lift the scalpel again. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Cowden Clarke about Lhe beginning of i8i5 settled in London, and [he fii^l |iook which the two friends altacltcd together was Chapman's " Homer," first great sonnet was struck off at n heat Clarke found it at the bteak- le after they had spent a long evening over the translation. J Through Clarke, Keats vas introduced to Leigh Hunt, who, hy his fasci. Iialion of person and manner, exercised an influence over far greater men than ~~ — an inRucnce disproportionate to bis genius and certainly in many Bespects harmful. Not a little of the weakness of Keats's earlier efforts may this of Hun 3 posing as a martyr of libemllsm, and the Tory hatred khich he so airily courted was not slow to strike also at his friends. The n characleriiing the savage crjlidsma which condemned Keats's published s was distilled from poUtical fangs. ats and Hunt were congenial spirits, especially in their tastes for books, e, and Greek antii^uity. " The Lov'd Ohertaa " was Keats's poetic name [nnt. They spent truch time together in the " Vale of Health " where :'s cottage was situated ; there are hints of the friendship in many poems xchanged. Once Keats presented Hunt with a crown of ivy: and wnt in rworded with a round of sonnets. Occasionally they would challenge ther to rivalry on some chosen theme, as, for instance : sonnets on the Krisshopper and cricket. Cowden Qarke spoke with warmth of Hunt'l 1' unaiTecled generosity and perfectly unpretentious encouragement." 1 Among Keats's other intimate acquaintances were John Hamilton Reynolds, k now forgotten poet whose sister Jane married Tom Hoorl, Benjamin R. Haydon the artist, who painted KeaLi's head into his picture of Christ's cnti^ BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xiii saw his first volume of poems given to the world. Literature was now his pro- fession. He is described as being at this time " a small, handsome, ardent* looking youth ; the stature little over five feet; the figure compact and well-lurned, with the neck thrust eagerly forward, carrying a strong and shapely head set off by thickly clustering gold-brown hair; the features powerful, finished, and mobile; the mouth rich and wide, with an expression at once combative and sensitive in the extreme; the forehead not high, but broad and strong; the eyebrows nobly arched, and eyes hazel-brown, liquid-flashing, visibly inspired." llaydon said his eye had ''an inward look perfectly divine, like a Delphian priestess who saw visions." Leigh Hunt also spoke of his " mellow and glow- ing, large, dark, and sensitive " eyes. Impressionable, easily affected to laughter or tears, full of fun, moody, dramatic, thoroughly lovable, Keats now faced the world. It is interesting to note that the modem worshippers of Keats treasure with peculiar tenderness his very faults, his words quaintly misspelled, his grammat- ical errors, his exuberant immaturities of form and idea, his crude unconven- tionalilies. Like Spenser he is the poet's poet: from his faults there is more to learn than from more perfect works. The little book failed to make any impression except on a few choice spirits. The publishers felt that they had been imposed upon and wrote indignantly to George Keats : " We regret that your brother ever requested us to publish his book, or that our opinion of its talent should have led us to acquiesce in undertaking it." Keats himself went into a temporary exile so as to concentrate his mind on some new work. He went to Caribrooke on the Isle of Wight, where he wrote his fine sonnet to the sea; then finding the solitude too trying, though his brother Tom was with him, he went to Margate, where he began "Endymion." From there he wrote to Haydon speaking among other things of his " horrid Morbidity of Temperament," which he said was the greatest enemy and stumbling-block that he had to fear. He was probably somewhat worried about money matters. His guardian had mismanaged his funds; the supplies were running short. But Taylor & Hersey, afterwards the publishers of the London Magazine^ had agreed to bring out '' Endymion," and they advanced him a small sum, but sufficient to keep him in comfort while he was at work at it. The work was continued briskly through the summer, first at Canterbury, then at Hampstead Heath, where he lodged with his two brothers and found congenial friendship with Charles W. Dilke and Charles Armitage Brown, as well as with Haydon, Clarke, Severn, and Hunt. Shelley invited him to stay with him at Great Marlow, but Keats declined. Later in the summer he went to visit Benjamin Bailey, then a student, but afterwards Archdeacon in Ceylon. At Oxford, where he wrote the third book of " Endymion," Keats, by a foolish indiscretion, laid the seeds of ill- health, which, together with inherited consumptive tendencies, made the poet himself recognize that he should never again be ''secure in robustness." BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. While he was Hiring at Hamp^lead he once found " a batcher " or " a fcalchet boy," t>r, aa George Keats says, " a scoundrel in livery," ill-rrcsting • uil, ind engaged the fellow in a stand-up tight that lasted an hoar. Keati :eeded in spite of his diminutive stature in adnunialeriag a sound punish- t is said that Coleridge met Keats in a lane ncai Highgalc and described . as " a loose, slack, not well-dreased youth." After shaking haads with he said to Hunt, who was with him, "There is death in thai hand." The jracy of observation regarding Keats's shrunken old-looking hand does not n lo be compatible with the observation regarding bis person, which was ainly not loose, but compact. J The lirst draught of " Endymion " was finished at Burford Bridge, near Dock- ing, on the 2Sth of November. He spent the lirat pact of the winter in revis- ing and correcting the proofs of " Endymion." Daring the holidays of that ir (1S17-181S), he acted as theatrical critic for the Champion in piace of Reynolds, who was away. His admiration of Keoji was unbounded ; he laid, ~" 1 indescribable gmlo in his voice, by which we feel that (be litlerer is thinking of the past and future while speaking of the instanL" [e was enjoying a wiitcr circle of acquaintance. Three days after Christ- he was present at an " immortal dinner " given by Haydon. Present E Wordsworth quoting Milton and Vergil "with fine intonation," Charles '^m\>, Monkhouse, Richie the African traveller. Lamb got tipsy and played . of absurd practical jokes. Wurdsworth invited Keats to dinner and lo have called the Hymn to Pan (from " Endymion "), which ICeaU Iccitcd to him, " a pretty piece of paganism." It must have been his manoer BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. XV becom«a griic]ua.Uy dackcsed, and at the same time, on all lidei of it, mairj d[>oT9 are set t>pen — but all dark — all Iel.ding (o dark pataagei. We ace nol the balance of good and evil. We are in a mist; we ate in that state, we feel ' the bunkn of the Myslety." " In April " Endjmion " ua.s published with its modest crilicism-disBrming preface. He recogniied its faults, " It is as good aa I hid power (o make it by myself." It ia to pot'lry uhat the earlier symphonies of Schat>ert are to music, and the splendid fragment of " Hyperion " in the same way may be compared to Schubert's " unlinished symphony." In May Keats and his friend iJruwn (liee page 435) started for Liverpool with George and his yumig bride, "the nym])h of the downward smile and sidelong glance." .\rter the farewells, the two friends went on a walking eicursion through the l^ke region and the north country. At Rydal they were disappointed to miss seeing Wordsworth. By stages of twenty miles and more each day Ihey reached Scotland, where, as Keats wrote, " the clouds, (he sky, the housca, all seem anti-Grecian and anti-Charlemagnish." To him scenery was line, but human nature was liner. 1'he poems written during the Scolllsh tour reflect his mooils. He complained that " the mahogany- faced old jackass" uho had charge of the Burns cottage spoiled bis sublimity; "the flat dog," he said, " made me write a flat sonnet. " His health was not very good, anil while, at lirst, he boasted of sleeping so sounilly from his fatigue that one might sew his nose to his great toe and trundle him round the town like a hoop without waking him, afterwards he complains of coarse fare and accommodations, rough way and frer]uent drench- ings. In the letter which contained bis transcript of his line Fingal poem he speaks of" a slight si>re throat." The ascent of Ben Nevis was loo much for him. It brought on feverish symptoms. The doctor whom he consulted for- bade him to continue his tour. He took sail from Cromarty for London, and landed on the iSth of August. Mrs. Dilke received him. She wrote: "John Keats arrived here last night, as brown and shabby as you can imagine; scarcely any shoes left, his jacket all torn at the back, a fur cap, a great plaid, and his knapsack. I cannot lell what he looked likel " Troubles were wailing for him. The August i'Aif:hirii0i/ contained the famous or infamous attack on " Endymion." The personalities in it were inspired by Lockhart; whether he or Scott wrote the article is a mallet of opinion. In September the Quarterly contained Gilford's equally contemp- tible and contemptuous attack on the volume. It was long supposed that Keats's life was sacrificed or at least shortened by these malicious attacks. It is now known that he bad more strength of mental fibre than " to be snuffed out by an article." He wrote in reference to the warm defence of his friends: "Praise or blame has but a momentary elfect on the man whose love of beaaty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works. My own domeslic criticism has given me pain without comparison beyond what Bladnitood or the Quarterly ^a\^A possibly inflict: and also, when I feel I am right, no BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. eittem»l praise can give rue such a glow aa my uwn solilaty re-perceplion ai I tatiticDtion of what is tine." iiknown Rilinirer sent him j^l5 and a sonnet of sympalhy. Miss Jfti antbor of "The Scottish Chiefs," wrote him a letter of gushii encouragement and praise. Keats himself said i "The attempt to crush me the Quarterly has only brought me more into notice." A letter lummoning Keats home had missed him in Scotland. Hi« brolhi Tom was rapidl/ growing worse. He spent the autumn months in their lod^ ings at Hsmpstead taking care of the invalid. In December he died an Keats look up his lesidence with Brown, sharing the household expenst and occupying the front sitting-room in a little house which Brown h» built. Before Tom Keata died "Hyperion " was begun, and as time wore on h became more and mare obsotbcd in poetry, which, however, was shared wit! a new and growing passion. He bad written in September, " I never was ii love, yet the voice and shape of a woman hoe haunted me these two days." He had written lo his "brother and sister George" — "The roaring of th' wind is my wife; and the stars through my window-panes are my children the mighty abstract idea of Beaaly in all things I have, stifles the raore divide* and minute domestic happiness. An amiable wife and sweet children I coo template as part of that Beauty, but I must have a thousand of those beantifui particles to fill up my heart, I feel more and more every day, ns my imagina- rengthens, that I do not live in this world alone, but In a thousand worlds. No sooner am I alone, than shapes of epic greatness are stationed around me, and serve my spirit the office which u equivalent to a King's Body- BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xvii though a little painful; her mouth is bad, and good; her profile is better than her full face, which indeed is not full, hut pale and thin without showing any bones; her shape is very graceful, and so are her movements; her arms are good, her hands bad-ish, her feet tolerable.'* At first he took a downright dislike to her, callea the outside of the severely chilled, — bat now I lion't feel it. Utile.' He mildly and instantly yielded — a property y friend — to my request that he should go to bed. I followed, with the best immediate remcily in my [lowcr. I entered hii nber as he leapt into bed. On entering the cold sheets, before his head on the pillow, be slightly coughed, and I heard him say, ' That is blood 1 my mouth.' I went towards him; he was examining a single drop of Blood upon the sheet. 'Bring mc the candle, Brown, and let me see this After regarding it steadfastly, he looked up in ray face, with a is of countemtnce that I can never forget, and said, ' I cannot be d in that color ; that drop of blood is my death-warrant; I must die.' or a surgeon. My friend was bled, and at die in the morning I left ter he had been some lime in a quiet sleep." lie gradually rallied, and by the fir^t of April wns able to take a five-mile md the doctor assured him that his only malady was " nervous irrita- md general weakness, caused by anxiety, and by the excitement o( foelry." > Bcawne, offering to release her from the engagement, but refused. Even before this he hicl been thinking of sailing to the tropics hip's surgeon. In May Brown started for Scotland for another walking BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xix in Italy. Keats decided to go with him, and they embarked on board the "Maria Crowlher" for Naples, September i8. The expenses of his journey were paid by an advance of ;f loo on the copyright of " Endymion." Brown had heard of Keats's relapse, and hastened home to see him. He reached the Thames on a Dundee smack, and the two friends lay within bail of each other off Gravesend, unawares. While the ** Maria Crowther " was detained by stormy weather in the channel and at Portsmouth, Keats landed and visited friends at Bedhampton. Brown was then at Chichester, only ten miles away. They never met again, but Keats wrote Brown a long, pathetic letter, confiding to him the secret of the tortures which he had suffered, and asking him to he a friend to Miss Brawne after he was dead. "The thought of leaving Miss Brawne is beyond everything horrible — the sense of darkness coming over me — I eternally see her figure eternally vanishing. Some of the phrases she was in the habit of using during my last nursing at Wentworth Place ring in my ears. Is there another life? Shall I awake and find this a dream ? There must be — we cannot be created for this sort of suffering." Contrary winds enabled Keats once more to land on English soil. It was on the Dorsetshire coast, and here he wrote his last poem, the sonnet begin- ning: " Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art.*' In the Bay of Biscay the ship was met by a violent storm. Severn, finding the water swashing through their cabin in the night, called out to Keats, " half fearing he might be dead." Keats answered cheerily with a quotation from a famous sea-song. After the storm abated he began to read the shipwreck scene in Byron's " Don Juan," but flung the volume down, indignant at the reckless cynicism which could "make solemn things gay and gay things solemn." After a month's voyage the vessel reached Naples, when Keats drearily relieved the dulness of a ten days' quarantine by " summoning up in a kind of desperation more puns than in the whole course of his life before." Shelley again wrote to Keats inviting him to Pisa; but he decided to go with Severn to Rome. He suffered during the drive from lack of proper food, but found delight in the scenery and especially the flowers. At Rome, where they arrived towards the end of November, they took lodgings at the Piazza di Spagna. Severn, who was a good musician, got a piano, and often soothed his friend's pain by playing to him. The weather was fine and for a time he seemed to improve; bis spirits rose, and he was often pleasant and witty. He planned a poem on the subject of Sabrina. On the last day of November he himself wrote Brown a cheerful letter very different from that which he wrote on the first day of the month, when he said : " I have coals of fire in my breast. It surprises me that the human heart is capable of so much misery." But he could not summon resolution to write to Miss Brawne again. The BIOGRAPHrCAL SKETCH. Iter that he is known lo have sent he; was daled July ao, — a i choly and terrible letter. the tenth of December he suffered a relapse. Hemorrhage folk ats was not a believer. Severn wai a Christian, anil his influence over was mosl beneficent. He asked Severn lo read to him from Toylor's ' Holy Living and Dying," anil cerlainly strove to calm the tumuli of his His habitual question of the doctor was: " When will this posthumous life nl mine come lo an end ? " Neither the friend nor the doctor could bear the ;>alhetic expression of his gieat eyes " burning with a sad and piercing unearthly brightness in his wasted cheeks." His appreciation of every act :if kindness was very lovely, and Severn's [eir>iiu3cence« of his dealh-bed are exquisite pictures of pathos and unselfish friendship. On the 13d of February, iSii. obout four o'clock, the end came. He said : ■' Severn — ^l — lift me up — I am dying — 1 shall die easy; don't be (tightened — be firm and thank God it has come." Whvn at last the breathing ceased, Severn thought he still slept. Three days later he was buried in tSic ProteslanI cemetery near the Pyramid af Caius Sestus, and there sixty-two years later Severn's remains were also poems. JOHN KEATS. LONDON: C. i J. OLLIER, 3, WELBECK STHEET, [Keals's first vnlume, published early in 1817, is b fcrolscap octavo worked fi half sheets. It was issued in drab boards, wilh a back label X'lats's Pvems, a blank leaf, fly-title Poems in heavy black letter, wilh imprint ■qetahb, LONDON," tille-page as given opposite, Dedication with note on i reproduced, and pages I to 131 including (he ftj-titlcs to the Epistles, ., and Sletp and Fselry, all as reproduced in the following pages, re head-lines in Roman capitals running throughout each section, recio so alike, (i) poimi, (2J Epiilln, {3) Sonntts, and (4) Slifp and \'oilry. Leigh Hunt, reviewing with characteristic boldness, loyalty, and in- light this volume, dedicated to him, laid his finger unerringly on its weak and ■Irong points. His review appeared in Thi Examinir for the isl of June and ■ih anJ ijih ol July, 1817, and will lie found reprinted as an Appendix ii DEDICATION. TO LEIGH HUNT, EsQ. GLORY and loveliness have pass'd away; For if we wander oul in early morn. No wreathed incense do we see upborne Into the east, to meet the smiling day: No crowd of nymphs soft voic'd and young, and gay. In woven baskets bringing ears of com, Roses, and pinks, and violets, to adorn The shrine of Flora in her early May. But there are left delights as high as these. And I shall ever bless my destiny, That in a time, when under pleasant trees Pan is no longer sought. I feel a free A leafy luxury, seeing I could please With these poor offerings, a man like thee. Readers of Charles Cowdcn Clarke's Recollections of Keala, printed in the pres- ent edition, will remember Ihe slaiement, sliU appropriate here, ihat, " on the even- ing when Ihe last proof sheet [of the 1817 vohime] was brought from the printer, It was accompanied by Ihe information ihalif a ' dedication to the book was intended it must be sent forthwith.' Whereupon he withdrew to a side table, and in ihebuu of a mixed conversation (for there were several friends in Ihe room) he composed and broiwht lo Charles Oilier, the publisher, the Dedication Sonnet to Leigh Hunt." The first of the three Sonnets 10 Keals in Hunt's Fotiagt focmi a fitting reply 10 this ; and Ihe three will be found in the Appendix. period than the rest of the Poems.] POEMS. ** Places of nestling^ green for Poets made.'* Storv of Rimini. I STOOD tip-toe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still. That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside. Their scantly leav'd, and finely tapering stems, 5 Had not yet lost those starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the mom. The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn. And fresh from the clear brook ; sweetly they slept On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept 10 A little noiseless noise among the leaves. Bom of the very sigh that silence heaves : For not the faintest motion could be seen Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. There was wide wand'ring for the greediest eye, 1 5 To peer about upon variety ; Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim ; To picture out the quaint, and curious bending Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending ; 20 Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves. I gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free As though the fanning wings of Mercury (i) Leigh Hunt tells us in Lord Byron and Some of his Contemporaries that "this poem was sugs^ested to Keats by a delightful summer's-day, as he stood beside the gate thatleads from the Battery on Hampstead Heath into a field by Caen Wood." (la) Hunt calls this (see ApF>endix) " a fancy, founded, as all beautifid fancies are, on a strong sense of what really exists or occurs." POEMS PUBUSHED IN 1817. I Had play'd upon my heels : I was light-hearted. And many pleasures to my vision started; So [ straightway began lo pluck a posey Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy. And tel a lush laburnum oversweep them. And let long grass grow round the roots lo keep them Moist, cool and green ; and shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets. A filbert hedge with wild briar overlwin'd. And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind Upon their summer thrones ; there too should be The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, That with a score of light green brethren shoots From the quaint massiness of aged roots : Round which is heard a spring-head of clear waters Bai)bling so wildly of its lovely daughters The spreading blue bells : it may haply mourn It such fair clusters should be rudely torn m their fresh beds, and scatter'd thoughtlessly y infant hands, left on the path to die. «/ STOOD TIP-TOE UPON A UTTLE HILL." / And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiay rings. 60 Linger awhile upon some bending planks That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, And natch intently Nature's gentle doings; They will be found softer than ring-dove's cooings. How silent comes the water round that bend ; 65 Not the minutest whisper does it send To the o'erhanging sallows : blades of grass Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass. Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach 70 A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds ; Where swarms of minnows show their little heads. Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams, To taste the luxury of sunny beams Temper'd with coolness. How they ever wrestle 75 With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand. If you but scantily hold (jut the hand, That very instant not one will remain ; But turn your eye, and they are there again, 80 The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses. And cool themselves among the cm'rald tresses; The while they cool themselves, they freshness give. And moisture, that the bowery green may live ; So keeping up an interchange of favours, 85 Like good men in the truth of their behaviours. Sometimes goldlinches one by one will drop From low hung branches ; little space they stop ; But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek ; Then off at once, as in a wanton freak : 90 (61-80) Clarke says Keats lold him Itiis passage was the recollection of the friends' "having fiequenlly loitered over the rail of a loot-bridge thai spanned ... a little brook in the last field upon entering Ednionion." Keats, he says, " flioughl the picture correct, and acknowledged to a partiality for it." Lord HougntOD prints the following alternative reading of Itie passage tieginning with " Unger awhile among some bending planks That lean af^inst a streamlet's daisied tianks. And watch inlenliy Nature's gentle doings : That will be found as soft as ringdoves' cooings. The inward ear will hear her and be blest, And tingle with a joy too ligbl for rest." POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings, Pausing upon Ihcir yellow flutterings. Were I in such a place, I sure should pray That nought less sweet, might call my thoughts away. Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown Fanning away the dandelion's down ; Than the light music of her nimble toes Patting against the sorrel as she goes. How she would start, and blush, thus to be caught i'hying in all her innocence of thought. O lei me lead her gently o'er the brook. Watch her half-smiling lips, and downward look ; O let me for one moment touch her wrist ; Let me one moment to her breathing list ; And as she leaves me may she often turn Her fair eyes looking through her locks aubume. What next ? A tuft of evening primroses. O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes; O'er which it we!! might lake a pleasant sleep. But that 'tis ever startled by the leap Of buds into ripe flowers ; or by the flitting f diverse moths, th.it aye their rest .ire quitting; r by the moon lifting her silver rim bove a cloud, and with a gradual swim "/ STOOD TIP-TOE UPON A UTTLE HILL.''' 9 But the fair paradise of Nature's light ? In the calm grandeur of a sober line. We see the waving of the mountain pine ; And when a tale is beautifully staid, We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade : 1 30 When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings : ' Fair dewy roses brush against our faces. And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases ; O'er head we see the jasmine and sweet briar, 135 And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire ; While at our feet, the voice of crystal bubbles Charms us at once away from all our troubles : So that we feel uplifted from the world, Walking upon the white clouds wreath'd and curPd. 140 So felt he, who first told, how Psyche went On the smooth wind to realms of wonderment ; What Psyche felt, and Love, when their full lips First touched ; what amorous, and fondling nips They gave each other's cheeks ; with all their sighs, 145 And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes : The silver lamp, — the ravishment, — the wonder — The darkness, — loneliness, — the fearful thunder ; Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown. To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne. 150 So did he feel, who pulPd the boughs aside. That we might look into a forest wide. To catch a glimpse of Fauns, and Dryades Coming with softest rustle through the trees ; And garlands woven of flowers wild, and sweet, 155 Upheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet : Telling us how fair, trembling Syrinx fled Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread. Poor nymph, — poor Pan, — how he did weep to find, f 128) In the manuscript we read a mountain Pine. (141) Compare Endymion, final couplet : — Peona went Home through the gloomy wood in wonderment. (144) This was originally written in the manuscript, What fondUing and amour- 9US nips; but the words are marked to be transposed. (151) Cancelled manuscript reading, So do they feel who pull ; and in the next line, may for might, 153) In the manuscript, and in the original edition, Fawns for Fauns. 155) Cancelled manuscript reading, And curious garlands of fiowers^ &c. ^156) The manuscript has sportive for sporting. ^159) In the manuscript, how did he weep. POEMS PVBUSHED TN 1817. Nought but a lovely sighing of (he wind Along tlic reedy stream ; a half heard strain. Full of sweet desolation — balmy pain. What first inspir'd a bard of old to sing Narcissus pining o'er the untainted spring? In some delicious ramble, he had found A little space, with boughs all woven round; And in the midst of all, a clearer pool Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool, The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping Through tendril wrealhs tanlastically creeping. And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride. Drooping its beauty o'er the vratery clearness, To woo its own sad image into nearness ; Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move ; But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love. So while the poet stood in this sweet spot. Some fainter gleaminga o'er his &ncy shot; Nor was il long ere he had told the tale Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's bale. •*/ STOOD TIP-TOE UPON A LITTLE HILL:' II The incense went to her own starry dwelling. But though her face was clear as infantas eyes. Though she stood smiling o'er the sacrifice, 200 The Poet wept at her so piteous fate, Wept that such beauty should be desolate : So in fine wrath some golden sounds he won. And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion. Queen of the wide air ; thou most lovely queen 205 Of all the brightness that mine eyes have seen I As thou exceedest all things in thy shine, So every tale, does this sweet tale of thine. O for three words of honey, that I might Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night ! 210 Where distant ships do seem to show their keels Phoebus awhile delay'd his mighty wheels. And turned to smile upon thy bashful eyes. Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize. The evening weather was so bright, and clear, 215 That men of health were of unusual cheer ; Stepping like Homer at the trumpet's call, Or young Apollo on the pedestal : And lovely women were as fair and warm, As Venus looking sideways in alarm. 220 The breezes were ethereal, and pure, And crept through half closed lattices to cure The languid sick ; it cooPd their fcver'd sleep, And sooth'd them into slumbers full and deep. Soon they awoke clear ey'd : nor burnt with thirsting, 225 Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting : And springing up, they met the wondering sight Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight ; Who feel their arms, and breasts, and kiss and stare, And on their placid foreheads part the hair. 230 Young men, and maidens at each other gaz'd With hands held back, and motionless, amaz'd To see the brightness in each other's eyes ; And so they stood, filPd with a sweet surprise. Until their tongues were loos'd in poesy. 235 Therefore no lover did of anguish die : But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken. Made silken ties, that never may be broken. (233) In the original edition, others'. [2 POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. Cynlliia ! I cannot teil the greater blisses, That follow'd Ihine, and (hy dear shepherd's kisses: Was (here a pott born? — but now no more, My wand'ring spirit must no farther soar. — SPECIMEN OF AN INDUCTION TO A POEM.' LO ! 1 must tell a tale of chivalry ; For large white plumes are danciag in mine eye. Not like the formal crest of latter days ; But bending in a thousand graceful ways ; So graceful, that it seems no morlal hand, Or e'en the touch of Archimago's wand. Could charm them into such an attitude. We must think rather, that in playful mood. Some mountain breeze had turn'd its chief delight. To show this wonder of its gentle might. Lo ! I must tell a tale of chivalry ; For while I muse, the lance points slantingly Athwart the morning air: some lady sweet. Who cannot fee! for cold her tender feet, From the worn top of some old battlement SPECIMEN OF AN INDUCTION TO A POEM, 13 And from her own pure self no joy dissembling, Wraps round her ample robe with happy trembling. Sometimes, when the good Knight his rest would take, It is reflected, clearly, in a lake, 20 With the young ashen boughs, 'gainst which it rests. And th' half seen mossiness of linnets' nests. Ah ! shall I ever tell its cruelty. When the fire flashes from a warrior's eye, And his tremendous hand is grasping it, 25 And his dark brow for very wrath is knit? Or when his spirit, with more calm intent. Leaps to the honors of a tournament. And makes the gazers round about the ring Stare at the grandeur of the ballancing? 30 No, no I this is far off; — then how shall I Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy. Which linger yet about lone gothic arches. In dark green ivy, and among wild larches? How sing the splendour of the revelries, 35 When buts of wine are drunk off to the lees ? And that bright lance, against the fretted wall. Beneath the shade of stately banneral, Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield? Where ye may see a spur in bloody field. 40 Light-footed damsels move with gentle paces Round the wide hall, and show their happy faces ; Or stand in courtly talk by fives and sevens : Like those fair stars that twinkle in the heavens. Yet must I tell a tale of chivalry : 45 Or wherefore comes that steed so proudly by? Wherefore more proudly does the gentle knight, Rein in the swelling of his ample might ? ■ Spenser! thy brows are arched, open, kind, And come like a clear sun-rise to my mind ; 50 And always does my heart with pleasure dance, When I think on thy noble countenance : Where never yet was ought more earthly seen Than the pure freshness of thy laurels green. ^44) The transcript reads which for that, (46) In previous editions, knight : but in a copy of the 1817 volume bearing on the title-page an inscription in Keats's writing, the word steed is substituted in manuscript for knight. The transcript also reads Ueed, 14 POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. Therefore, great bard. I not so fearfully Call on Ihy gentle spirit to hover oigh My daring steps : or if thy tender care, Thus startled unaware, Be jealous that the foot of other wight Should madly follow that bright path of light Trac'd by thy lov'd Liberlas ; he will speak, And tell thee that my prayer is \tiy meek ; That 1 will follow with due reverence, And start with awe at mine own strange pretence. Him thou wilt hear; so I will rest in hope To see wide plains, fair trees and lawny slope : The mom. the e/e. the light, the shade, the flowers ; Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking lowers. • CALIDORE. A FRAGMENT. \/-Ol'NG Calidore is paddling o'er the lake; 'Gainst the smooth surface, and to mark anoii. The widening circles into nothing gone. And now the sharp keel of his little boat Comes up with ripple, and with easy float, And glides into a bed of water lillies : Broad leav'd are they and their whit^ canopies Are upward tura'd to catch the heavens' dew. Near to a little island's point they grew; Whence Calidore might have the goodliest view Of this sweet spot of earth. The bowery shore Went off in gentle windings lo (he hoar And light blue mountains : but no breathing man With a warm heart, and eye prepar'd to scan Nature's clear beauty, could pass lightly by Objects that look'd out so invitingly On either side. These, gentle Calidore Greeted, as he had known thera long before. The sidelong view of swelling leafiness. Which the glad setting sun, in gold doth dreu; Whence ever, and anon the jay outsprings. And scales upon the beauty of its wings. The lonely turret, shatter'd, and outworn. Stands venerably proud ; too proud to mourn Its long lost grandeur : fir trees grow around. Aye dropping iheir hard fruit upon the ground. The little chapel with the cross above Upholding wreaths of ivy; the white dove, That on the window spreads his feathers light. And seems from purple clouds to wing its flight. Green tufted islands casting their soft shades Acro;ff the lake ; sequester'd leafy glades, (a8) In Ihe Iramcripl, line aS reads — And light blue Mounuins. Bui sure no breathing man and in tine 99 on stands in place of and. (40) Id the transcript this and the next line stand thus : — Its long lost grandeur. Laburnuma grow around And Ihiw their golden honors to Ihe ground. i43) In the transcript, Us eresi. ft; The tranicript readi mmdmi ; the first edition, uuitdlMBr, POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. That tlirough the dimness of their twilight show Lar^c dock leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow Of t!ie wild cat's eyes, or the silvery stems Of delicate birch trees, or long grass which hems A little brook. The youth had long i>eca viewing These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught A trumpet's silver voice. Ah ! it was fraught With many joys for him : the warder's ken Had found while coursers prancing in the gleu: Friends very dear to him he soon will see ; So piLshes off his boat most eagerly, And soon upon the lake he skims along. Deaf to the nightingale's first imder-song; Nor minds he the white .swans that dream so sweetly! His spirit flies before him so completely. And now he turns a jutting point of land, Whence may be seen the castle gloomy, and grand : Nor will a bee buiz round two swelling peaches. Before the point of his light shallop reaches Those marble steps that througli the water dip: Now uver them he goes with hasty trip. And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors : CALIDORE. 1 7 Made him delay to let their tender feet 85 Come to the earth ; with an incline so sweet From their low palfreys o'er his neck they bent : And whether there were tears of languishment, Or that the evening dew had pearPd their tresses. He feels a moisture on his cheek, and blesses 90 With lips that tremble, and with glistening eye. All the soft luxury ' That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand, Fair as some wonder out of fairy land, Hung from his shoulder like the drooping flowers 95 Of whitest Cassia, fresh from summer showers : And this he fondled with his happy cheek As if for joy he would no further seek ; When the kind voice of good Sir Clerimond Came to his ear, like something from beyond 1 00 His present being : so he gently drew His warm arms, thrilling now with pulses new, From their sweet thrall, and forward gently bending, Thank'd heaven that his joy was never ending ; While 'gainst his forehead he devoutly press'd 1 05 A hand heaven made to succour the distressed ; A hand that from the world's bleak promontory Had lifted Calidore for deeds of Glory. Amid the pages, and the torches' glare. There stood a knight, patting the flowing hair 1 10 Of his proud horse's mane : he was withal A man of elegance, and stature tall : So that the waving of his plumes would be High as the berries of a wild ash tree. Or as the winged cap of Mercury. 1 15 His armour was so dexterously wrought In shape, that sure no living man had thought It hard, and heavy steel : but that indeed It was some glorious form, some splendid weed. In which a spirit new come from the skies 1 20 Might live, and show itself to human eyes. 'TIS the far-fem'd, the brave Sir Gondibert, Said the good man to Calidore alert ; While the young warrior with a step of grace (85) The transcript reads pretty feet. (loi) This present beings in the transcript. (103) The transcript reads meekly bending. POEMS PUBUSHED /N 1817. Came up, — a courtly smile upon his face, And mailed hand held out, ready to greet The large-ey'd wonder, and ambitious heat Of tlic aspiring boy; who as he led Those smiling ladies, often lurn'd his head To admire tlie visor arch'd so gracefully OvuT a knightly brow ; while they went by The lamps that from the high-roofd hall were pendent. And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent- Soon in a pleasant chamber they arc seated; The sweel-lipp'd ladies have already greeted All llie green ieaves that round the window clamber. To show their purple stars, and bells of amber, Sir Gondibert has dolTd his shining steel, Gladdening in the free, and airy feel Of a light mantle ; and while Clcrimond Is looking round about him with a fond. And placid eye. young Calidore is burning To hear of kni<;hlly dei^ds, and gallant spurning Of all unworthiness; and how the strong of ana Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm "^ -om lovely woman : while brimful of this, c gave each damsel's hand so warm a kiss. And !iad such manly ardour in his eve, TO SOME LADIES, 1 9 TO SOME LADIES. HAT though while the wonders of nature exploring, I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend ; Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusi^t's friend : w Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes, 5 With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove ; Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes. Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews. Why linger you so, the wild labyrinth strolling? Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare? 10 Ah ! you list to the nightingale's tender condoling. Responsive to sylphs, in the moon-beamy air. Tis mom, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping, I see you are treading the verge of the sea : And now ! ah, I see it — you just now are stooping 15 To pick up the keep-sake intended for me. If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending, Had brought me a gem from the fret-work of heaven ; And smiles, with his star-cheering voice sweetly blending, The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given ; 20 It had not created a warmer emotion Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with from you, Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the ocean Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly threw. For, indeed, 'tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure, 25 (And blissful is he who such happiness finds,) To possess but a span of the hour of leisure. In elegant, pure, and aerial minds. (20) The reference to Mrs. Tighe, the authoress of the now almost forgotten poem of Psyck4f is significant as an indication of the poet's taste in verse at this period* POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. RECEIVING A CURIOUS SHELL, AND A COPY OF VERSES, FROM THE SAME LADIES. H AST thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem Pure as the ice-drop ihat froze on the mountain? Bright as the humming-bird's green diadetn, When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain? Hast thou a gobkl for dark sparkling wine? Thai goblet riglit heavy, and massy, and gold? And splendidly mark'd with the story divine Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bo!d? Hast lliou a sleed with a mane richly flowing? Hast thou a sword that tliine enemy's smart is? Hasl Ihou a trumpet rii:h melixlies blowing? And wear's! thou the shield of the fam'd Britomartis? What is it that lungs from lliy shoulder, so brave, Embroidcr'd with many a spring peering flower? Is it a scarf that thy feir lady gave ? And haslesi thou now to that fair ladv's bower? ON RECEIVIMG A CURIOUS SHELL. 2 1 I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound In magical powers to bless, and to sooth. 20 On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair A sun-beamy tale of a wreath, and a chain ; And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare Of cliarming my mind from the trammels of pain. This canopy mark : 'tis the work of a fay ; 25 Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish, When lovely Titania was far, far away, And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish. There, oft would he bring from his soft sighing lute Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales listened ; 30 The wondering spirits of heaven were mute. And tears 'mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened. In this little dome, all those melodies strange. Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh ; Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change ; 35 Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die. So, when I am in a voluptuous vein, I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose. And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain. Till its echoes depart ; then I sink to repose. 40 Adieu, valiant Eric ! with joy thou art crown'd ; Full many the glories that brighten thy youth, I too have my blisses, which richly abound In magical powers, to bless and to sooth. In line 37 we have And for So, and in line 39 song for taU. None of these vari- ations are shown by the other copy, which correspKjnds almost exactly with the volume of 18x7, but reads line 31 thus : The wandering spirits of Heaven are mute. POEMS PI/BUSHED IN 2317. TO HADST thou liv-d ia days of old, O what wondurs had been told or thy hvely countenance, And thy humid eyes thai dance In the midst of their own brightness j In the very &ne of lightness. Over which thine eyebrows, leaning. Picture out each lovely meaning: In a dainty bend they lie. Like to streaks across the sky, Or the feathers from a crow, Fallen on a bed of snow. Of thy dark hair that extends Into many graceful bends: As the leaves of Hellebore Turn to whence they sprung before. And behind each ampk curl Peeps the richness of a peart. Downward too flows many a tress TO HOPE. 23 Hadst thou liv'd when chivalry Lifted up her lance on high, Tell me what thou wouldst have been? Ah ! I see the silver sheen Of thy broider'd, floating vest 45 Cov'ring half thine ivory breast ; Which, O heavens ! I should see, Bub that cruel destiny Has plac'd a golden cuirass there ; Keeping secret what is fair. 50 Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested Thy locks in knightly casque are rested : O'er which bend four milky plumes Like the gentle lilly's blooms Springing from a costly vase. 55 See with what a stately pace Comes thine alabaster steed ; Servant of heroic deed ! O'er his loins, his trappings glow Like the northern lights on snow. 60 Mount his back ! thy sword unsheath ! Sign of the enchanter's death ; Bane of every wicked spell •, Silencer of dragon's yell. Alas ! thou this wilt never do : 6$ Thou art an enchantress too. And wilt surely never spill Blood of those whose eyes can kill. TO HOPE. WHEN by my solitary hearth I sit. And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom ; When no fair dreams before my • » mind's eye " flit. And the bare heath of life presents no bloom ; Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, 5 And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head. Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night. Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray. Should sad Despondency my musings fright, And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, 10 POEMS PUBUSHED m IS 17. Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof, And keep that fiend Despondence (ar aloof. Should Disappointmecl, parent of Despair. [Strive for her sod to seize my careless heart ; When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart ; Chace him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, And fright him as the morning frightens night ! Whene'er the fate of those I hold mast dear Tells 10 my fearful breasl a tale of sorrow. O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer; Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow; Thy heaven-bom radiance around me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head I Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain, From cruel parents, or relentless fair; O let me think it is not quite in vain To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! Sweel Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed. And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head ! IMITATION OF SPENSER. 25 IMITATION OF SPENSER. NOW Morning from her orient chamber came. And her first footsteps touched a verdant hill ; Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame, Silvering the untainted gushes of its rill ; ' Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distill, 5 And after parting beds of simple flowers, By many streams a little lake did fill. Which round its marge reflected woven bowers. And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers. There the king-fisher saw his plumage bright 10 Vieing with fish of brilliant dye below ; Whose silken fins, and golden scales' light Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow : There saw the swan his neck of arched snow, And oar'd himself along with majesty ; 1 5 Sparkled his jetty eyes ; his feet did show Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony, And on his back a fay reclin'd voluptuously. Ah ! could I tell the wonders of an isle That in that fairest lake had placed been, 20 I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile ; Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen : For sure so fair a place was never seen. Of all that ever charmed romantic eye : It seemM an emerald in the silver sheen 25 Of the bright waters ; or as when on high, Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the coerulean sky. The copy of these stanzas in Tom Keats's copy-book has a reading in line 12 '^rhich ought perhaps to supersede the printed text of 1817, namely, ^«?/rf^« scaUs li^hi. It seems highly likely that Keats really meant to carry his archaism to the extent of making scales a dissyllable, especially as the metre is thus corrected. Lord Houghton states on the authority of the notes of Charles Armitage Brown, given to his lordship in 1833, that this is the earliest known composition of Keats, and was written whil^ be was living at Edmonton. POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. And all around it dipp'd luxuriously Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide. Which, as it were in gentle amity, Rippled delighted up the flowery side; As if to glean the ruddy te^rs, it try'd, Which fell profiisely fron) the rose-tree stem! Haply it n-as the workings of its pride. In strife to throw upon the shore a gem Outvieing all the buds in Flora's diadem. WOMAN! when I behold thee flippant, vain. Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of&incies; Without that modest softening thai enhances The downcast eye, repentant of the pain That its mild light creates to heal again : E"cn then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances. E'en then my soul with exultation dances r thai lo love, so long, I've dormant lain ; !t uhen I see tliec meek, and kind, and lender. WOMAN! WHEAT I BEHOLD THEE. 2^ My ear is open like a greedy shark, To catch the tunings of a voice divine. Ah ! who can e'er forget so fair a being? Who can forget her half retiring sweets? God ! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats For man's protection. Surely the All-seeing, Who joys to see us with his gifts agreeing, Will never give him pinions, who intreats. Such innocence to ruin, — who vilely cheats A dove-like bosom. In truth there is no freeing One's thoughts from such a beauty ; when I hear A lay that once I saw her hand awake. Her form seems floating palpable, and near; Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear, And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake., 33 35 1 1 EPISTLES. "Amanglhe rests shephcard (Iliough bul yaung Vel ha/lned lo lib pipe) wilh all ihe sldll His few yceres could, began 1q lit his quilU" Briuuinla's Pastorals. — BkoWKE. TO GEORGE FELTON MATHEW. C WEET arc the pleasures that lo verse belong. O And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song; Nor can remembrance, Mathew ! bring to view A fate more pleasing, a delight more true Than thai id which the hrolhtr Poets joy'd, j EPISTLE TO GEORGE FELTON MATHEW. 29 Or again witness what with thee IVe seen, 25 The dew by fairy feet swept from the green. After a night of some quaint jul^ilee Which every elf and fay had come to see : When bright processions took their airy march Beneath the curved moon^s triumphal arch. 30 But might I now each passing moment give To the coy muse, with me she would not live In this dark city, nor would condescend ^Mid contradictions her delights to lend. Should e'er the fine-ey'd maid to me be kind, 35 Ah ! surely it must be whene'er I find Some flowery spot, sequestered, wild, romantic. That often must have seen a poet frantic ; Where oaks, that erst the Druid knew, are growing. And flowers, the glory of one day, are blowing ; 40 Where the dark-leavM laburnum's drooping clusters Reflect athwart the stream their yellow lustres. And intertwined the cassia's arms unite. With its own drooping buds, but very white. Where on one side are covert branches hung, 45 ^Mong which the nightingales have always sung In leafy quiet : where to pry, aloof, Atween the pillars of the sylvan roof. Would be to find where violet beds were nestling. And where the bee with cowslip bells was wrestling. 50 There must be too a ruin dark, and gloomy, To say ** joy not too much in all that's bloomy." Yet this is vain — O Mathew lend thy aid To find a place where I may greet the maid — Where we may soft humanity put on, 55 And sit, and rhyme and think on Chatterton ; And that warm-hearted Shakspeare sent to meet him Four laurell'd spirits, heaven-ward to intreat him. With reverence would we sf>eak of all the sages Who have left streaks of light athwart their ages : 60 And thou shouldst moralize on Milton's blindness, And mourn the fearful dearth of human kindness To those who strove with the bright golden wing Of genias, to flap away each sting Thrown by the pitiless world. We next could tell 65 Of those who in the cause of freedom fell ; POEMS fUBLlSHED IM 1817. Of our own MhcA, of Helvetian Tell ; Of him whose name to evVy heart's a solace. High-minded and unbending WiUi*n Wallace. While to the rugged north our musing turns W'k well might drop a tear for him, and Bums. Felton ! wilhout incitements sucli ns these, Hdw \-ain for me the niggard Muse to tease : For thee, she will thy every dwelling grace, And make " a sun-shine in a shady place : " Far thou wast once a floweret blooming wild. Close to the sotirce, bright, pure, and undefil'd. Whence gush the streams of song: in happy hoiv Came chaste Diana from her shady bower, Just as the sun was from the east uprising ; And, as for him some gift she was devising, Keheld Ihee, pluck'd thee, cast thee in the stream To meet her glorious brother's greeting beam. I marvel much tliat ihou hast never told How. from a flower, into a fish of gold Apoilo chang'd thee ; how lliou next didst seem \ black-ey'd swan upon the widening stream ; \nd when thou first didst in that mirror trace e placid features of a human face : EPISTLE TO GEORGE KEATS. 3 1 Or, on the wavy grass outstretched supinely, Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely: That I should never hear Apollo's song. Though feathery clouds were floating all along 10 The purple west, and, two bright streaks between. The golden lyre itself were dimly seen : That the still murmur of the honey bee Would never teach a rural song to me : That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting 1 5 Would never make a lay of mine enchanting. Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold Some tale of love and arms in time of old. But there are times, when those that love the bay. Fly from all sorrowing far, far a^'ay ; 20 A sudden glow comes on them, nought they see In water, earth, or air, but poesy. It has been said, dear George, and true I hold it, (For knightly Spenser to Libertas told it,) That when a Poet is in such a trance, 25 In air he sees white coursers paw, and prance, Bestridden of gay knights, in gay apparel, Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel. And what we, ignorantly, sheet-lightning call, Is the swift opening of their wide portal, 30 When the bright warder blows his trumpet clear. Whose tones reach nought on earth but Poet's ear. When these enchanted portals open wide. And through the light the horsemen swiftly glide. The Poet's eye can reach those golden halls, 35 And view the glory of their festivals : Their ladies fair, that in the distance seem Fit for the silv'ring of a seraph's dream ; Their rich brimm'd goblets, that incessant run Like the bright spots that move about the sun ; 40 And, when upheld, the wine from each bright jar Pours with the lustre of a falling star. Yet further off, are dimly seen their bowers, (34) See note to line 44. page 35. (37) The transcript reads bright for fair, (42) Hunt (see Appendix) notes this comparison of poured wine to a filling star as an instance of Keats's early *' tendency to notice everything too indiscrimi- nately and without an eye to natural proportion and effect ; " and the comparison in irerses 48-50 is chained with the same &ult POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. Of ivliicli, no mortal eye can reach the flowers; And 'lis right just, for well Apollo knows 'Twould make the Poet quarrel with the rose. All that's reveal'd from that far seat of Misses, Is, the clear fountains' intcrchaaging kisses. As gracefully descending, tight and thin, Like silver streaks across a dcilphin''s fin, When he upswimmelh firom the coral caves. And sports with half his tail above the waves, Tliese wonders strange he sees, and many more. Whose head is pregnant with poetic lore. Should he upon an evening ramble fare With forehead to the soothing breezes bare, Would he nauglit see but the dark, silent blue With all its diamonds trembling through and through? Or the coy moon, when in the wavineAS Of whitest clouds she does her beauty dress, And staidly pices higher up, a.nd higher. Like a ssveet nun in holy-day attire? Ah, yes ! much more would start into his sight — e revelries, and mysteries of night : d should 1 ever see them, I will tell you :h tales as needs must with amazement spell you. EPISTLE TO GEORGE KEATS. 33 «* My happy thoughts sententious ; he will teem •* With lofty periods when my verses fire him, •* And then Til stoop from heaven to inspire him. 80 *« Lays have I left of such a dear delight *• That maids will sing them on their bridal night. •* Gay villagers, upon a morn of May, «• When they have tir'd their gentle limbs with play, «* And formed a snowy dircle on the grass, 85 ** And placed in midst of all that lovely lass •• Who chosen is their queen, — with her fine head « * Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red : ** For there the lilly, and the musk-rose, sighing, «* Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying : 90 «' Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble, «• A bunch of violets full blown, and double, * • Serenely sleep : — she from a casket takes ** A little book, — and then a joy awakes «* About each youthful heart, — with stifled cries, 95 •* And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes: * « For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears ; One that I foster'd in my youthful years : The pearls, that on each glist'ning circle sleep, ** Gush ever and anon with silent creep, 1 00 «* Lur'd by the innocent dimples. To sweet rest «• Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast, «' Be luird with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu ! «• Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view: *' Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions, 105 «• Far from the narrow bounds of thy dominions. ** Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air, «• That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair, •* And warm thy sons ! " Ah, my dear friend and brother, Could I, at once, my mad ambition smother, no For tasting joys like these, sure I should be Happier, and dearer to society. At times, His true, Pve felt relief from pain When some bright thought has darted through my brain : Through all that day Tve felt a greater pleasure 1 15 Than if Td brought to light a hidden treasure. As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them, I feel delighted, still, that you should read them. (86) The transcript reads — Placing in midst thereof, that happy lass. (118) The transcript reads will for should. « t POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. I have had much calm enjoyment, Stri^lch'd on thegrass at my besl lov'il employment Of scribbling lines for you. These things I thought While, in my face, the freshest brceie 1 caught- E'en now I'm piUow'd on a bed of flowers That crowns a lofty elift, which proudly towers Above the ocean-waves. The stalks, and blades, Clicquer my tablet with their quivering shades. Ori one side is a field of drooping oats, Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats ; So pert and useless, that they bring to mind The scarlet coats that pester human-kind. And on the other sidn, outspread, is seen Ocean's blue mantle streak'd with purple, and green. Now 'tL-! I see a canvass'd ship, and now Mark the bright silver curling round her prow. I sei; ihe lark down-dropping to his nest. Aril ilii- lirti.id winged sea-gull never at rest; f'lir uli.ii Tio more he spreads his feathers free, Hi- 111. .i-.( is (lancing on the restless sea. t my eyes into the west, iV'hich at this moment is in sunbeams drest : V westward tarn ? s but to kiss my hand, dear George, to y EPISTLE TO CHARLES COW DEN CLARKE. 35 In milky nest, and sip them off at leisure. 10 But not a moment can he there insure them, Nor to such downy rest can he allure them ; For down they rush as though they would be free. And drop like hours into eternity. Just like that bird am I in loss of time, 15 Whene'er I venture on the stream of rhyme ; With shattered boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent, I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent ; Still scooping up the water with my fingers, In which a trembling diamond never lingers. 20 By this, friend Charles, you may fiill plainly see Why I have never penned a line to thee : Because my thoughts were never free, and clear, And little fit to please a classic ear ; Because my wine was of too poor a savour 25 For one whose palate gladdens in the flavour Of sparkling Helicon : — small good it were To take him to a desert rude, and bare. Who had on Baix's shore reclined at ease, While Tasso's page was floating in a breeze 30 That gave soft music from Armida's bowers. Mingled with fragrance from her rarest flowers : Small good to one who had by Mulla's stream Fondled the maidens with the breasts of cream ; Who had beheld Bclphoebe in a brook, 35 And lovely Una ;n a leafy nook. And Archimago leaning o'er his book : Who had of all that's sweet tasted, and seen, From silv'ry ripple, up to beauty's queen ; From the sequester'd haunts of gay Titania, 40 To the blue dwelling of divine Urania : One, who, of late, had ta'en sweet forest walks With him who elegantly chats, and talks — The wrong'd Libertas, — who has told you stories Of laurel chaplets, and Apollo's glories ; 45 Of troops chivalrous prancing through a city, And tearful ladies made for love, and pity : With many else which I have never known. Thus have I thought ; and days on days have flown Slowly, or rapidly — unwilling still 50 For you to try my dull, unlearned quill. (44) Mrs. Charles Cowden Clarke, speaking from knowledge derived from her husband, tells me there is no doubt whatever about Libertas being, as one would naturally imagine, a name for Leigh Hunt. POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. Nor should I now, but lliat I've known you long; Tial you first taught me all the sweets of song: The grand, the sweet, the terse, the free, ihe tine ; What swell'd with pathos, and what right divine : Spenserian vowels that elope with ease. And float along like birds o'er summer seas ; Miltonian stormti, and more, Miltonian tenderness ; Michael in arms, and more, meek Eve's fair slenderness. Who read for me the sonnet swelling loudly Up to its climax and then dying proudly? Who found for me the grandeur of the ode, Growing, like Atlas, stronger from its load? Who lei me taste that more than cordial dram, The sharp, the rapier- pointed epigram? Show'd me that epic was of all the king. Round, vast, and spanning all like Saturn's ring? You too upheld Ihe veil from Clio's beauty. And pointed out the palriol's slern duty ; The might of Alfred, and the shaft of Tell; The hand of Rmtus, that so grandly fell VJpon a tyrant's head. All ! had I never seen. Or known your kindness, what might I have been? What my enjoyments in my youthful years. Bereft of all that now my life endears? EPISTLE TO CHARLES COW DEN CLARKE. 37 As though she were reclining in a bed 95 Of bean blossoms, in heaven freshly shed. No sooner had I stepped into these pleasures Than I began to think of rhymes and measures : The air that floated by me seem'd to say '* Write ! thou wilt never have a better day." 100 And so I did. When many lines Td written, Though with their grace I was not oversmitten. Yet, as my hand was warm, I thought Td better Trust to my feelings, and write you a letter. Such an attempt required an inspiration 105 Of a peculiar sort, — a consummation ; — Which, had I felt, these scribblings might have been Verses from which the soul would never wean : But many days have past since last my heart Was warmM luxuriously by divine Mozart; li'* By Ame delighted, or by Handel maddened ; Or by the song of Erin pierc'd and sadden'd : What time you were before the music sitting. And the rich notes to each sensation fitting. Since I have walked with you through shady lanes i F 5 That freshly terminate in open plains. And revel'd in a chat that ceased not When at night-fall among your books we got : No, nor when supper came, nor after that, — Nor when reluctantly I took my hat ; 120 No, nor till cordially you shook my hand Mid-way between our homes : — your accents bland Still sounded in my ears, when I no more Could hear your footsteps touch the grav'ly floor. Sometimes I lost them, and then found again; 125 You changed the footpath for the grassy plain. In those still moments I have wish'd you joys That well you know to honor : — • • Lifers very toys *• With him," said I, •* will take a pleasant charm ; *• It cannot be that ought will work him harm." 130 These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might : — Again I shake your hand, — friend Charles, good night. September, 1816. (130) Hunt says (see Appendix), in evident allusion to Keats's prowess as a boxer and readiness to back his friends — " we can only add, without any disre- spect to the graver warmth of our young poet, that if Ought attempted it. Ought would find he had stout work to do with more thaji one person." The student will probably turn to the posthumous poems and compare these epistles with that to John Hamilton Reynolds written in 18 18. TO MY BROTHER GEORGE. MANV the wonders I this day have seen: The sun, when first he kisl away the tears That fill'd the eyes of mom ; — the laurelPd peen Who from the feathery gold of evening lean ; — beanng penclllEd ikelcha b)| K( tsl dr.uis {in pencil also) of (his k d (his draft with a careful irantcripl made byGeoigt SONNETS. 39 The ocean with its vastness, its blue green, Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears, — Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears Must think on what will be, and what has been. E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write, Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping So scantly, that it seems her bridal night. And she her half-discover'd revels keeping. But what, without the social thought of thee. Would be the wonders of the sky and sea? II. TO HAD I a man^s fair form, then might my sighs Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart ; so well Would passion arm me for the enterprize : But ah ! I am no knight whose foeman dies ; No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell ; I am no happy shepherd of the dell Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes. Yet must I dote upon thee, — call thee sweet, Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication. Ah ! I will taste that dew, for me H is meet. And when the moon her pallid face discloses, ril gather some by spells, and incantation. Tom Keats's copy-book contains a transcript of this sonnet showing no variation n the text, except by a copyist's error at the end, — the last word being incan/a/ions, rhere is no heading beyond the word Sonnet^ no date, and no clue to the identity »f the person addrcued. POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1S17. I HUNT LEFT PRISON. WHAT though, for showing truth to fUtter'd state. Kind Huat wa.s shut in prison, yet has he. In his immorta! spirit, been as free As the sky-searching lark, and as elate. Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait? Think you he nought but prison walls did see. Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key? Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate ! I The Hunts left prison on Ihe and of February 1815, according to Leigh Hum's il, though Thornton Hunt snys the 3rd at page 90. \'olume I, o( the KM (1B61). The eiprcasions employed lowords Leigh Hunt in Ihu 101. one would bay, intemperale; ond yet, adding Ihe innocuous phrase n SJt^ and foiUy (lines 354-^5), 1 1 was a poet's house who keeps the kevs Of pleasure's tcmptc. ;1 that the little volume was dedicated lo Hunt, rrofcs!or Wilson, weTl Ae- SONNETS. 41 In Spenser's halls he strayed, and bowers fair, Culling enchanted flowers ; and he flew With daring Milton through the fields of air: To regions of his own his genius true Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew? IV. HOW many bards gild the lapses of time ! A few of them have ever been the food Of my delighted fancy, — I could brood Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime : And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, These will in throngs before my mind intrude : But no confusion, no disturbance rude Do they occasion ; H is a pleasing chime. So the unnumberM sounds that evening store ; The songs of birds — the whisp'ring of the leaves The voice of waters — the great bell that heaves With solemn sound, — and thousand others more. That distance of recognizance bereaves. Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar. of this Paper from Prison" occupied the first page of Th€ Examiner for Sunday, the 5th of February 1815. The opening is as follows : — *'The two years' imprisonment inmcted on the Proprietors of this Paper for difTering with the Morning Post on the merits of the Prince Regent, expired on Thursday last; and on that day accordingly we quitted our respective Jails.*' On the subject of how the^ felt on the occasion, Hunt excuses himself from particu- larity, but observes with characteristic pleasantness, *' there is a feeling of space and of airy clearness about everything, which is alternately delightful and painful." The greater part of the article is far from being in Hunt's best manner ; but the end should stand on record here : " We feel that we have driven another nail or two into the old oaken edifice of EJiglish Liberty; and if we have rapped our fingers a little in the operation, it is only a laugh and a wring of the hands, and all is as it should be.'* Hunt adduces the first line (see Appendix) as an example of Keats's '* sense of the proper variety of versification without a due consideration of its principles," and very justly adds. ** by no contrivance of any sort can we prevent this from jumping out of the heroic measure into mere rhythm icality." Clarke records that when this and one or two other early poems of keats were first shown by him to Hunt, Horace Smith, being present, remarked on the 13th line, " What a well- condensed expression for a youth so young I " POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. TO A FRIEND WHO SENT ME SOME ROSES. AS lale I rambled in llie happy fields. What lime Ihe sky-lark shakes the tremulous de«r From his lush clover covert ; — when anew Adventurous knighls take up their dinted shields : I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, A fresh-blown musk-rose ; 't visa the first thai threw Its sweets upon the summer: grBcefit] it grew As is the wand that queen Tilania wields. And, as I feasted on its ftagrancy, 1 thought the garden-rose it far excell'd ; Bui when, O Wells ! thy roses came lo me My sense with their deliciousaess was spell'd : Soft voices had they, that nith tender plea Whisper'd of peace, and tnith, and friendliness unqucll'd. TO O. A. V. "N TYMPH of the downward smile and ddelong daact, IN In what diviner moments of the day Art thou most lovely? — when gone far astray Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance, Or when serenely wand'ring in a trance Of sober thought ? — or when starting away With careless robe to meet the morning ray Thou spar'st the flowers in thy mazy dance? Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly, And so remain, because thou listenest : But thou to please wert nurtured so completely That I can never tell what mood is best. I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly l^ips it before Apollo than the rest. VII. O SOLITUDE ! if I must with thee dwell. Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings ; climb with me to the steep, — Nature's otnervalory — whence the dell. Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal sweU, The lubiect of this sonnet was Mbs Georgiana Augusta Wylie.aAerwards the wiAs olKeaU'sbroiherGeo^e, and now (1881) Mrs. Jeffrey. I should not have con- Dccied the sonnet positively with this Jady had 1 not seen the manuscript in Keals's writing, headed " To Miss Wylic," The manuscript corresponds verbatim wilh the sonnet aa published in iSit ; but in the two quatrains the belter punctuation is that of the manuscript ; and I have followed it in the text. The Ihirteenih line shows one correction ; NjwifM was originally written where Graci now stands. In a transcript in Tom Keats's copy-book we read jehal gnue ; and the sonnet is tieaded " Sonnet to a Lady," and dated " Dee. tSi6." This Sonnet, published in The Examiatr lor the 5th of May 1816. licned " J. K," is stated by Charles Cowden Clarke {GemlUmaiC s Magaiint lot February 1874) to be " Keats's first puiiiiAfd poem.^' In Tom Keats's copy-book it Is headed" Sonnet to Solitude,'' and undated. The only vari.ilion is in \ineg, — /'d fill riL 7»e £j-*"t«rteadsrn' POEMS PUBUSHED IN 1817. Faligued lie sinks into some pleasant tair Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair And gciilk' tide of lo\'e and languishmcnt? Ri;tuming home at evening', with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye Wateliing tlie sailing cloudlet's bright career. He mourns that day so soon has glided by; E'en like the passage of an angel's tear That falls through the clear ether silently. OS FIKST LOOKING I MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly slates and kingdoms seei Hound many western islands have I beea Which hards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had 1 been told That (leep-brow'd Homer rul'd as his demesne; Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out Innd ard bf»ld : SONNETS. 47 Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken *, Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He star'd at the Pacific — and all his men LookM at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien. ation in line 7 is of value in connexion with one of the reminiscences of Clarke, who says the seventh line originally stood thus : Yet could I never tell what men could mean and that Keats substituted the reading of the text because he considered the first reading "bald, and too simply wondering." But he may have been actuated by another reason also, as thus : in an article headed " Youn^ Poets " in The Examiner for the ist of December 1816, Hunt had spoken in high praise of a set of Keats's man- uscript poems shown to him, and had printed this one as given in Tom Keats's copy-l>ook, with the remark that it contained " one incorrect rhyme.*' The only disputable rhyme is that of puan and demesne, and that is got rid of by the revision. *• The rest of the composition," says Hunt, " with the exception of a little vagueness in calling the rq^ons of poetry * the realms of gold,' we do not hesitate to pronounce excellent, especially the last six lines. The word swims is complete ; and the whole conclusion is equally powerful and quiet." He amears to have become reconciled to " the realms of gold" in later years, to judge from the close of that charming work Imagination and Fancy, Speaking of this sonnet he savs at page 345 ( I quote the third edition, dated 1846), — " * Stared ' has been thought by some too violent, but it is precisely the word required by the occasion. The Spaniard was too origi- nal and ardent a man either to look, or to affect to look, coldly superior to it. His * eagle eyes ' are from life, as may be seen by Titian's portrait of him." Of the last line, which ends the poetry of Imagination and Fancy, Hunt says " We leave the reader standing upon it, with all the illimitable world of thought and feeling before him. to which his imagination will have been brought, while journeying through these • realms of gold.' " The last four lines seem to be a reminiscence of Robertson's History of America, recorded by Oarke as among Keats's later school reading; but, as Mr. Tennyson pointed out to Mr. Palgrave {Golden Treasuty, 1861, page 320) the reference should really be to Balboa. From Hunt's remark about the portrait it is clear this was no mere slip of the pen : Cortez was the man whom Keats's imagination saw in the situation, and it is to be presumed that his memorv betrayed him, for it seems un- likely that he met with the story elsewhere, told of Cortez. The passage in Robert- son's History of America (Works, edition of 1817, Volume VIII, page 287) is as follows : ** At length the Indians assured them, that from the top of the next mountain they should discover the ocean which was the object of their wishes. When, with infinite toil, they had climbed up the cpreater part of that steep ascent, Balboa commanded his men to halt, and advanced alone to the summit, that he might be the first who should enjoy a spectacle which he had so long desired. As soon as he beheld the South Sea stretching in endless prospect below him, he fell on his knees, and lifting u]) his hands to heaven, returned thantcs to God, who had conducted him to a discov- ery so beneficial to his country, and so honourable to himself. His followers, ob- serving his transports of joy, rushed forward to join in his wonder, exultation, and gratitude." An account of this incident will also be found in Washington Irving's Voyages and Discoviriti of the Companions of Columbus. The reader will of course turn to the Sonnet to Homer among the posthumous Poems of i8i8,and read it in connex- ion with this one published by Keats. It is not difHcult to decide which is the finer ; but that, though not so great a sonnet as this, has some lines that are hardly indeed to be surpassed. POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. AN EARLY HOUR.* GIVK me a golden pen, and let me lean <;)ii hcap'd up flowers, in regions clear, and fer; Bring me a tablet whiter than a star, Or hand of hymning angel, when 't is seen The silver slrings of heavenly harp atween : And let there glide by many a pearly car. Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar. And half discovered wings, and glances keen. The while let music wander round my ears, And as it reaches each delicious ending, Let me write down a line of glorious tone. And full of many wonders of the spheres ; For what a height my spirit is contending ! Tis not content so soon to be alone. SONNETS. 49 What when a stout unbending champion awes Envy, and Malice to their native sty ? Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause. Proud to behold him in his country's eye. XIV. ADDRESSED TO THE SAME.* GREAT spirits now on earth are sojourning ; He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake, Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake, Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing : He of the rose, the violet, the spring. The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake : And lo ! — whose stedfastness would never take A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering. And other spirits there are standing apart Upon the forehead of the age to come ; These, these will give the world another heart. And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings ? — Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb. XV. ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.f THE poetry of earth is never dead : When all the birds are faint with the hot sun. And hide in cooling trees, a voice^ will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead ; That is the Grasshopper's — he takes the lead ♦ In Tom Keats*s copy-book this Sonnet is headed simply " Sonnet " and is dated 3i6 merely. There are no variations. It is almost superfluous to identify the iro men referred to in the first six lines — Wordsworth and Leigh Hunt. t Clarke records that this sonnet was written at I^igh Hunt's cottage, on a chal- nge from Hunt. See Clarke's account in his Recollections of Keats ; and see POEMS PC/BUSHED IN" 1817. In summer luxury, — he has never done Witli his delights ; for ivhen tired oul with fun He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never; On a lane winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a. silence, from the stove there si The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever. And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The Grasshopper^s among some grassj liills. TO KOSCIUSKO.* GOOD Kosciusko, thy great name alone Is a full harvest whence to reap Jiigh feeling; It comes upon us like the glorious pealing Of the wide spheres — an everlasting tone. And now it tells me, that in worlds unknown. t from clouds concealing, SONNETS. 51 XVII. HAPPY is England ! I could be content To see no other verdure than its own ; To feel no other breezes than are blown Through its tall woods with high romances blent Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment For skies Italian, and an inward groan To sit upon an Alp as on a throne, And half forget what world or worldling meant. Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters ; Enough their simple loveliness for me, Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging : Yet do I often warmly bum to see Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing. And float with them about the summer waters. SLEEP AND POETRY. " As 1 lay iti my Iwd ilepe full unmele Was unlo me, liul why that I ne roighl Rost i n<: wisi, for (here n'os enhly wighl [As 1 suppose] had more of henisesc Than I , for 1 n'ad siclciicsse nor dixie." WHAT is more gentle than a wind in summer? What is more soothing than the pretty hummer That atay."! one moment in an open flower. And buzzes cheerily from bower to bowerf Wl]at is more tranqiil! than a music-rose blowing In a green island, far from all men's linowing ? More healthful than tlie lealiness of dales? secret than a nesl of nightingales? serene than Cordelia's SLEEP AND POETRY. 53 Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder, Or the low rumblings earth's regions under ; And sometimes like a gentle whispering Of all the secrets of some wondVous thing 30 That breathes about us in the vacant air ; So that we look around with prying stare. Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning, And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning ; To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended, 35 That is to crown our name when life is ended. Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice. And from the heart up-springs, rejoice ! rejoice ! Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things. And die away in ardent mutterings. 40 No one who once the glorious sun has seen. And all the clouds, and felt his bosom clean For his great Maker's presence, but must know What 't is I mean, and feel his being glow : Therefore no insult will I give his spirit, 45 By telling what he sees from native merit. O Poesy ! for thee I hold my pen That am not yet a glorious denizen Of thy wide heaven — Should I rather kneel Upon some mountain-top until I feel 50 A glowing splendour round about me hung, And echo back the voice of thine own tongue? O Poesy ! for thee I grasp my pen That am not yet a glorious denizen Of thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer, 55 Yield from thy sanctuary some clear air. Smoothed for intoxication by the breath Of flowering bays, that I may die a death Of luxury, and my young spirit follow The morning sun-beams to the great Apollo 60 Like a fresh sacrifice ; or, if I can bear T^e overwhelming sweets, 'twill bring to me the fair Visions of all places : a bowery nook Will be elysium — an eternal book Whence I may copy many a lovely saying 65 About the leaves, and flowers — about the playing Of nymphs In woods, and fountains ; and the shade Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid ; POEMS PUB U SHED IN 1817, And many a verse from so strange influence Thai we must ever wonder how, and whence It came. Also i minings will hover Kound my fire-side, and haply there discover Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wander In happy silence, like the clear Meander Through ils lone vales; and where I found a spot Of awfullcr shade, or an enchanted grot. Or a green hill o'erspread with chequer'd dress Of flowers, and fearful from its loveliness. Write on my tablets all that was permilled. All that was for our human senses fitted. Then the events of this wide world I'd selic Lilce a strong giant, and my sgiirit lea/c Till at its siioulders il should proudly see Wings to find out an immortality. Slop and consider I life is but a day ; A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way From a tree's summit ; a poor Indian's sleep While his hont hastens to (he monstrous steep Of Monlnnorenci. Why so sad a moan? bi the rose's hope while yet unblown ; The reading of an ever-changing lale ; SLEEP AND POETRY. 55 A lovely tale of human life we^ll read. Iio And one will teach a tame dove how it best May fan the cool air gently o'er my rest ; Another, bending o'er her nimble tread. Will set a green robe floating round her head, And still will dance with ever varied ease, 1 1 5 Smiling upon the flowers and the trees : Another will entice me on, and on Through almond blossoms and rich cinnamon ; Till in the bosom of a leafy world VV'e rest in silence, like two gems upcurPd 120 In the recesses of a pearly shell. And can I ever bid these joys farewell ? Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life. Where I may find the agonies, the strife Of human hearts : for lo ! I see afar, 125 O'ersailing the blue cragginess, a car And steeds with streamy manes — the charioteer Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear : And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly Along a huge cloud's ridge ; and now with sprightly 130 Wheel downward come they into fresher skies, Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes. Still downward with capacious whirl they glide ; And now I see them on a green-hill's side In breezy rest among the nodding stalks. 135 The charioteer with wond'rous gesture talks To the trees and mountains ; and there soon appear Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear. Passing along before a dusky space Made by some mighty oaks : as they would chase 140 Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep. Lo ! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep : Some with upholden hand and mouth severe ; Some with their £aces muffled to the ear Between their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom, ,145 Go glad and smilingly athwart the gloom ; Some looking back, and some with upward gaze ; Yes, thousands in a thousand different ways Flit onward — now a lovely wreath of girls Dancing their sleek hair into tangled curls ; 1 50 And now broad wings. Most awfully intent The driver of those steeds is forward bent. POEMS PI/BUSHED IN 1817. And seems to listen ; O that I might koow All that he writes with such a hurrying glow e fled — the c sfled Into the light of heaven, and in their stead A sense of reaJ things conies doubly strong, And. like a muddy stream, would bear along My ^oul to nothingness : but I will strive Against all doubtings, and will keep alive The thought of that same chariot, and the strange Journey it went. Is there so small a range In the present strength of manhood, that the high Imagination cannot freely fly As she was wont of old ? prepare her steeds. Paw up against the light, and do strange deeds Upon the clouds ? Has she not shown us all ? From the dear space of ether, to the small iireatli of new buds unfolding ? From the meaning Of Jove's hu^c eye-brow, to tlie tender greening Of April meadows ? Here her altar shone. E'en in this tsle ; and who could paragon I The fervid choir that lifted uo SLEEP AND POETRY. 57 Why were ye not awake ? But ye were dead To things ye knew not of, — were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule 195 And compass vile : so that ye taught a school Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit, Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit. Their verses tallied. Easy was the task : A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask 200 Of Poesy. Ill-£%ted, impious race ! That blasphemM the bright Lyrist to his face. And did not know it, — no, they went about. Holding a poor, decrepid standard out MarkM with most flimsy mottos, and in large 205 The name of one Boileau ! O ye whose charge It is to hover round our pleasant hills ! Whose congregated majesty so fills My boundly reverence, that I cannot trace Your hallowed names, in this unholy place, 210 So near those common folk ; did not their shames Affright you? Did our old lamenting Thames Delight you ? Did ye never cluster round Delicious Avon, with a mournful sound, And weep? Or did ye wholly bid adieu 215 To regions where no more the laurel grew ? Or did ye stay to give a welcoming To some lone spirits who could proudly sing Their youth away, and die ? T was even so : But let me think away those times of woe : 220 Now \ Ls a feirer season ; ye have breathed Rich benedictions o'er us ; ye have wreathed Fresh garlands : for sweet music has been heard In many places ; — some has been upstirr'd From out its crystal dwelling in a lake, 225 By a swan's ebon bill ; from a thick brake. Nested and quiet in a valley mild, Bubbles a pipe ; fine sounds are floating wild About the earth : happy are ye and glad. These things are doubtless ; yet in truth we've had 230 Strange thunders from the potency of song ; Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong, From majesty : but in clear truth the themes POEA/S PUBLISHED IN 1817. Are ugly clubs, the Poets Polyphemes Disturbing the grand sea. A drainless shower Of light is poesy; 't is the supreme of power; T is might half slumb'ring on its own right arm. The very archiags of her eye-lids charm A thousand willing agents to obey, And still she governs with the mildest sway; Rut strength alone though of the Muses bom Is like a fallen angel : trees uptorn. iJarkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres Delight it ; for it feeds upon tile burrs. And thorns of hfc; forgetting the great end Of poesy, that it should be a friend To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. Yet I rejoice : a myrtle fairer than K'er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weeds Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds A silent space with ever sproutino; green, All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen, Creep through the shade with jaunty fluKering, Nibble the lillle cupped flowers and sing. Tlien let us clear away t!ie choaking thorns SLEEP AND POETRY. 59 That whining boyhood should with reverence bow Ere the dread thunderbolt could reach ? How ! If I do hide myself, it sure shall be 275 In the very fene, the light of Poesy : If I do fall, at least I will be laid Beneath the silence of a poplar shade ; And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven ; And there shall be a kind memorial graven. 280 But off Despondence ! miserable bane ! They should not know thee, who athirst to gain A noble end, are thirsty every hour. What though I am not wedthy in the dower Of spanning wisdom ; though I do not know 285 The shiftings of the mighty winds that blow Hither and thither all the changing thoughts Of man : though no great minist'ring reason sorts Out the dark mysteries of human souls To clear conceiving : yet there ever rolls 290 A vast idea before me, and I glean Therefrom my liberty ; thence too Pve seen The end and aim of Poesy. T is clear As anything most true ; as that the year Is made of. the four seasons — manifest 295 As a large cross, some old cathedral's crest, Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should I Be but the essence of deformity, A coward, did my very eye-lids wink At speaking out what 1 have dar'd to think. 300 Ah ! rather let me like a madman run Over some precipice ; let the hot sun Melt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down Convuls'd and headlong ! Stay ! an inward frown Of conscience bids me be more calm awhile. 305 An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an Lsle, Spreads awfully before me. How much toil ! How many days ! what desperate turmoil ! Ere I can have explored its widenesses. Ah, what a task 1 upon my bended knees, 31a I could unsay those — no, impossible ! Impossible ! For sweet relief Til dwell On humbler thoughts, and let this strange assay Begun in gentleness die so away. POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. Z'cn now all tumult from ray bosom &des: I turn full hearted lo the friendly aids That smooth the path of honour; brotherhood. And friendliness the nurse of mutual good. The liearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet Into the brain ere one can think upon it; 1 iie silence when some rhymes are coming out ; And when they're comci the very pleasant rout: The message certain to be done to-morrow. 'T is perliaps as well that it should be to borrow Some precious book from out its snug retreat, To cluster round it when we next shall meet. Scarce can 1 scribble on; for lovely airs Are fluttering round the room like doves in pairs; Many delights of that glad day recalling. When first my senses caught their tender falling. And with these airs come forms of elegance Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance, Careless, and grand — fingers soft and round Parting luxuriant curls ; — and the swift bound Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly. 'Iius I remember all the pleasant flow If words at opening a potlfollo. SLEEP AND POETRY. 6l Of pleasure's temple. Round about were hung 355 The glorious features of the bards who sung In other ages — cold and sacred busts Smiled at each other. Happy he who trusts To clear Futurity his darlicg fame ! Then there were fauns and satyrs taking aim 360 At swelling apples with a frisky leap And reaching Angers, 'mid a lusdous heap Of vine-leaves. Then there rose to view a fene Of liny marble, and thereto a train Of nymphs approaching fairly o'er the sward ; 365 One, loveliest, holding her white hand toward The dazzling sun-rise : two sisters sweet Bending their graceful figures till they meet Over the trippings of a little child : And some are hearing, eagerly, the wild 370 Thrilling liquidity of dewy piping. S«e. in another picture, nymphs are wiping Cherishingly Diana's timorous limbs ; — A fold of lawny mantle dabbling swims At the bath's edge, and keeps a gentle motion 375 With the subsiding crystal ; as when ocean Heaves calmly its broad swelling smoothness o'er Its rocky marge, and balances once more The patient weeds ; that now unshent by foam Feel all about their undulating home. 380 Sappho's meek head was there half smiling down At nothing; just as though the earnest frown Of over thinking had that moment gone From off her brow, and left her all alone. Great Alfred's too, with anxious, pitying eyes, 385 As if he always listened to the sighs Of the goaded world ; and Kosciusko's worn By horrid suffrance — mightily forlorn, Petrarch, outstepping from the shady green. Starts at the sight of Laura ; nor can wean 390 Shelley wrote to Mrs, Giibome, !n Hum's Correspondence (Volume i, pa^e aSg) wc read " Kcata'a SUip and Poetry ii a de^cripriun of a parlour that was mine, no BI7 1874) " ll was in the library al Hunt's cottage, where an extemporary bed had been nude up lor him on the soft." POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817. His eyes from licr sweet face. Most happy they I For over them was seen a free display Of out-spread wings, and from between them shone The face of Poesy ; from off her throne She overlook'd things that 1 scarce could tell. The very sense of where 1 was might well Keep Sleep aloof: but more than that there came Ttiought after thought to nourish up the tlame Within my breast ; so that the morning light Surprised me even from a sleepless night ; And up I rose refresh'd, and glad, and gay, iicsolving to begin that very day These lines ; and liowsoever they be done, 1 leave tliem as a father docs liis son. END YMION: 9 poetic Eomance. BY JOHN KEATS. eak of must necessarily taste in going over the following pages. I hope I have not in too late a day touched the beautiftil mythology of Greece, and dulled its brightness: for I wish to try once more,* be- fore I bid it farewell. Teignmouth, April lo. 1818. ^ Woodhouse notes — '* This alluded to his then intention of writing a poem on the fall of H]rperion. He commenced this poem : but, thanks to the critics who fell foul of this work, he discontinued it The fragment was published in i8ao." REJECTED PREFACE, ETC., TO ENDVMION. I OKir.INAL PREFACE, &c.. REJECTED IN FAVOUR OF THE FOREGOING.' IN a. great nation, the work of an individual is of so little importance t _ his pleadings and excuses are so uninteresting; his "way of life" :h a nothing, that a Preface seems a sort of impertinent bow ta inj^crs uho care nothing about it. A Preface, however, should be down in so many words ; and such a e that by an eye-glance over the type the Reader may catch an id-ea an Author's modesty, and non-opinion of himself — which I sin- lerely liope may be seen in the few lines I have to write, notwithstand- Lny proverbs of many ages old which men find a great pleasure In receiving as go plied — And in the front young Damsels danced along, while two rejected marginal readings for line 137 are — Each bringing a white wicker over brimmed and Each brought a little wicker over brimmed. ENDYhfJOS\ A crowd of .shepherds with as sunburnl looks As may be read of in Arcadian books ; Sach as sat listening round Apollo's pipe. When the great deity, for earth too ripe, Let his divinity o"er-flowing die In music, through the vales of Thessaly: Some idly trail'd their sheep-hooks on the ground. And some kept up a. shrilly mellow sound With ebon-Lipped Rules: cloae after these. Now coming from beneath the forest trees, A venerable priest fiJi soberiy, Begirt with ministring looks : alway his eye Stcdfast upon the matted turf he kept. And al^er him his sacred vesCmcnts swept. From his right hand there swung a vase, milk-white. Of mingled wine, out-sparkling generous light ; And in his left he held a basket full Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull : Wild thyme, and i-alley-lillies whiter still Than Leda's love, and cresses from the rill. Hb aged head, crowned with beechcn wreath, Seem'd like a poll of ivy in the teeth Of winter hoar. Then came another crowd Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud Book i.] ENDYMION. yj Up-followed by a multitude that rear'd Their voices to the clouds, a fair wrought car, 165 Easily rolling so as scarce to mar The freedom of three steeds of dapple brown : Who stood therein did seem of great renown Among the throng. His youth was fiilly blown, Showing like Gan}Tnede to manhood grown ; 170 And, for those simple times, his garments were A chieftain king's : beneath his breast, half bare. Was hung a silver bugle, and between His nervy knees there lay a boar-sf>ear keen. A smile was on his countenance ; he seem'd, 175 To common lookers on, like one who dream'd Of idleness in groves Elysian : But there were some who feelingly could scan A lurking trouble in his nether lip, And see that oftentimes the reins would slip 180 Through his forgotten hands : then would they sigh. And think of yellow leaves, of owlets' cry, Of logs piPd solemnly. — Ah, well-a-day. Why should our young Endymion pine away ! Soon the assembly, in a circle ranged, 185 Stood silent round the shrine : each look was changed To sudden veneration ; women meek BeckonM their sons to silence ; while each cheek Of virgin bloom palM gently for slight fear. Endymion too, without a forest peer, 190 Stood, wan, and pale, and with an awed face. Among his brothers of the mountain chace. In midst of all, the venerable priest Ey'd them with joy from greatest to the least. And, after lifting up his aged hands, 195 Thus spake he : •• Men of Latmos ! shepherd bands ! Whose care it is to guard a thousand flocks : Whether descended from beneath the rocks That overtop your mountains ; whether come From vallies where the pipe is never dumb ; 200 Or from your swelling downs, where sweet air stirs f 168) In the manuscript, sat is here cancelled in favour of stood. 1170) In the first edition Shewing. (191) Cancelled manuscript reading, a bowed face for an awed face. (192) In the first edition chase here, though chace in line 532 of the same Book. The manuscript gives chace in both instances, as at page 24 of the present volume. 78 endymion: I I irL I lIU lighllv and wliere prickly furze I I li f, )J or ve whose precious charge II I r lill at oceans very marge, II 111 reeds ^rc touch'd with sounds forloni I choes of old Tnton's horn : I in 1 \M\ts ' who day by day prepare ! I \ ih needments for the mountain air; II „ nile girls who foster up I I s li libs and in a little cop [1 I t thcite 1 mev for a favoureni|jt ihuiider, when Ionian shoab 1 M ill Ijiliins bob their noses through the brine. \li-,Lii[i!iu-, on shady levels, mossy fine, \ uiLii^ LiinipaniL's nimbly began dancing Tu the swift trtrbli^ pipe, and humming siring. Aye. those fair liiing forms swam heavenly To lunes forgotten — out of memory; Fair creatures 1 whose young children*' children bred Thtrmopyte Its heroes — not yet dead, liul in old marbles ever beautiful. High genitors. unconscious did they cull Times Biveet first-fruits — they danc'd to weariness. Anil iliin in i|uiEt circles did they press Till' hilluk turf, and caught the laller end i )! siiiiii -.ir.inge history, potent to send A ji^iiEii; mind from its bodily tenement Or ihev might watch the quoit-pi I chers, intent On either side ; pitying the sad death Of Hj-acinthus, when the cruel breath Of Zephyr slew him, — Zephyr penitent. Who now, ere Phcebus mounts the firmament, s the flower amid the sobbing rain. The jrehers too, upon a wider plain. Book i.] ENDYMIOAT. 83 Were dead and gone, and her caressing tongue 340 Lay a lost thing upon her paly lip, And very, very deadliness did nip Her motherly cheeks. Arous'd from this sad mood By one, who at a distance loud hallooed, Uplifting his strong bow into the air, 345 Many might after brighter visions stare : After the Argonauts, in blind amaze Tossing about on Neptune's restless ways, Until, from the horizon's vaulted side. There shot a golden splendour far and wide, » 350 Spangling those million poutings of the brine With quivering ore : H was even an awful shine From the exaltation of Apollo's bow ; A heavenly beacon in their dreary woe. Who thus were ripe for high contemplating, 355 Might turn their steps towards the sober ring Where sat Endymion and the aged priest 'Mong shepherds gone in eld, whose looks increase The silvery setting of their mortal star. There they discoursed upon the fragile bar 360 That keeps us from our homes ethereal ; And what our duties there : to nightly call Vesper, the beauty-crest of summer weather ; To summon all the downiest clouds together (347) The reference here is to the passage from the' second Book of the Argo- foutica of Ap>ollonius Rhodius, beginning at verse 674 (toicti 6} Ai)rov« wib*, ic.t.a.), which Shelley had in mind when (Prose Works, Volume III, page 56) he alluded to the Apollo " so finely described by Apollonius Rhodius when the dazzling radi- ance of his beautiful limbs suddenly shone over the dark Euxine." Right glorious before their wondering sight Appeared the child of Lcto, travelling swift From Libya northwards to the boundless realms Of men that dwell beyond the northern wind. The bright curls clustered round about his checks Like streaming gold : he bore a silver bow In his left hand, and o'er his shoulder slung A quiver : and beneath his feet divine The island trembled, and great waves came up Out of the sea and broke upon the shore. The passage has been kindly rendered for me as above by Mr. R. C. Day, who has tnus saved me the necessity of giving it in prose or in the stiff and not' v^ry acctuute rendering of Green or one of the still poorer translators of Apollonius Rhodius. (352) In Keats's editioo eifen is here printed in full ; but in the manuscript it is contracted to «'««• ErroYMiopr. Ya\ \\\\: sun's jjuqile couch ; lo emulate 111 luiiiisirid;,' tlie potent rule of tile Willi -..iiLii of fire-taird exhalations; li [iai ln:i- pallid cheek with bloom, ^ho eons >iiMi. I I II jL'sy by moonlight; besides these, A ■.iiiil'l 1)1" other unguess'd offices. Aiiiiii III' y waiider'd, by divine converse, Iii:ip F.K^iiiEii; vieing to rehearse I'., II h i>ii'' Ills own anticipated bliss. I iiii. li li liLai-t-c::rtain that he could not miss I [i- i|iiii.k 'is'Tic love, among fair blosaom'd boughs, Uliiii' I M-ry Kephyr-sigh pouts, and endows \\yx li[j-; \\\\\\ music for the welcoming. Another wish'd, mid that eternal spring. To meet his rosy child, with feathery sails, Siveeping, eye-eamcslly, through almond vales : Who, suddenly, should stoop through the smooth wind. And with the balmiest leaves his temples bind[ And, ever after, through those regions be His me.ssenger, his little Mercury. Ijome were athlr.st in soul to see again r fellow huntsmen o'er the wide champaign mes long past ; lo sit with Ihem, and talk 1.1 fall the chances in their earthly walk ; Book i.] ENDYMION. 85 Aye, even as dead-still as a marble man, 405 Frozen in that old tale Arabian. Who whispers him so pantingly and close ? Peona, his sweet sister : of all those. His friends, the dearest. Hushing signs she made. And breathM a sister's sorrow to persuade 410 A yielding up, a cradling on her care. Her eloquence did breathe away the curse : She led him, like some midnigfkt spirit nurse Of happy changes in emphatic dreams. Along a path between two little streams, — 415 Guarding his forehead, with her round elbow. From low-grown branches, and his footsteps slow From stumbling over stumps and hillocks small ; Until they came to where these steamlets fall, With mingled bubblings and a gentle rush, 420 Into a river, clear, brimful, and flush With cr}'stal mocking of the trees and sky. A little shallop, floating there hard by. (405-6) There are several episodes in The Thousand and One Nights that might possibly be cited in connexion with this couplet ; but tliere can hardly be any rea- sonable doubt that the allusion is to the tale generally associated with the name of Zobeide, its narrator, — that is to say the Eldest Lady's Story in The Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad, Although the story is almost too well known for an extract to be needed, English scholars have yet to desire a version of The Thou- sand and One Nights at once complete, scholarly, and characteristic in language. No apology is therefore necessary for inserting the following extract from a version on a sumptuous scale, by Mr. John Payne, now mainly in manuscript, but in course of private issue by subscription : " We sailed days and nights, till the captain missed the true course and the ship went astray with us and entered a sea other than that we aimed at. We knew not of this awhile and the wind blew fair for us ten days, at the end of which time the look-out man ascended to the mast-head to look out and cried ' Good news ! ' Then he came down, rejoicing, and said ' I see a city afar off, as it were a dove.' At this we rejoiced, and before an hour of the day was past, the city appeared to us in the dist^xnce. So we said to the captain ' What is the name of the city to which we are drawing near ? * 'By Allah,' replied he, ' I know not, for I have never before seen it, nor have I ever sailed this sea in my Hfe ! But, since the affair has ended in safety, nought remains for you but to land and display your goods, nnd if an oppor- tunity offer sell or barter as may be ; but if the occasion serve not, wc will rest here two days, then re-victual and depart.' So we entered the harbour and the captain landed and was absent awhile, aiter which he returned to us and said ' Arise go up into the city and marvel at God's dealings with His creatures and seek refuge from His HTath. So we went up to the city and saw at the gate men with staves in their hands; but when we drew near them, behold, they had been stricken by the wrath of God and were become stones ! Then we entered and found all the town- folk changed into black stones ; there was not a live soul left therein, no, not a blower of the fire. At this we were confounded and traversed the streets and markets, where we found the merchandise and gold and silver exposed in their places, and rejoiced saying ' Doubtless, there is some mystery in this.' Then we ENDYMION. intcd its beak over the fringed bank; id ^oon it llglitly dipt, and rose, and sank, .il dipt a^iiin, with the young couple's weight, - una guiding, Ihrough the water straight, n.irtls a bowery island opposite; 'liih ;^,iiiiing presently, she steered light (p ,\ ^li.idy, fresh, and ripply cove. Kit [lusted was an arbour, overwove in.iiiy a summer's silent fingering; ivliose tool bosom she was us'd to bring r playmates, with their needle broidery, d minstrel memories of times gone by. mlaid ul the sireeii of ihe cily. distrncled each from his fellow br ihe lie stuffs and riches ; whilst 1 went up to Ihe eludel and (auad n fashion, t entered Ihe king's jialace, where I found il! the fa- Ivcrandsaw Ihe king himself sealed In Ihe tnldsl of his ebambcr- nis and vliien, and clad In raiment IhU amaied the wit. Ai i saw ihat he wai sealed on a Ihrone inlaid with pearit and iewelt. oljBof elolhof gold embroidered with jewels, each oneofuhicli ,i-hil5l there slood about him lifly while slaves, dressed ia vuioui bearing drawn swords in Iheii hands. I was iliuck with amaic- Bsels ofgeld and 9 llalns and Ueuien I drew near him. 1 Book i.] ENDYMION. 87 On her own couch, new made of flower leaves, Dry'd carefully on the cooler side of sheaves When last the sun his autumn tresses shook, 440 And the tann'd harvesters rich armfuls took. Soon was he quieted to slumbrous rest : But, ere it crept upon him, he had prest Peona's busy hand against his lips. And still, a sleeping, held her finger-tips 445 In tender pressure. And as a willow keeps A patient watch over the stream that creeps Windingly. by it, so the quiet maid Held her in peace : so that a whispering blade Of grass, a wailful gnat, a bee bustling 450 Down in the blue-bells, or a wren light rustling Among sere leaves and twigs, might all be heard. O magic sleep ! O comfortable bird. That broodest o^er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth ! O unconfin'd 455 Restraint ! imprisoned liberty ! great key To golden palaces, strange minstrelsy, (440) Keats has here sacrificed, no doubt prop>erly. a very pretty picture, con- sisting of eleven lines struck out of the manuscript. 'Fhe whole passage originally stood thus : On her own couch, new made of floorer leaves, Dry'd carefully on the cooler side of sheaves When last the Harvesters rich armfuls took. She tied a little bucket to a Crook, Ran some swift paces to a dark wells side, And in a sighing-time retum'd, supplied With spar cold water ; in which she did squeeze A snowy napkin, and upon her knees Began to cherish her poor Brother's face ; Damping rcfreshfully his forehead's space. His eyes, his Lips : then in a cupped shell She brought him ruby wine ; then let him smell. Time after time, a precious amulet. Which seldom took she from its cabinet. Thus was he quieted to slumbrous rest : In supplying the couplet that now stands for this cancelled passage, Keats altered the initial And of line 441 to While, and back again to And. (450-1) The manuscript corresponds with the printed text in r^ard to this couplet ; but the or in hne 451 was an afterthought. Perhaps Keats meant to remedy in the same way line 4^0, and read or a bee bustiinj^ ; but the roughntrss of metre may have been intentionaL The licence of framing a couplet so that a rhyming dissyllable must be accentuated on the second syllable in one lin#? an'l on the first in the other should have been intolerable to his exquisit*? and cultivated ear; but this was of course no innovation of his: he must have met with it over and over again in his studies of earlier EJiglish po<>ts. (454) The manuscript reads o' the mind for of the mind. ENDVMION. I P" t q ew trees, bespangled caves, LI g B tl f 11 f tumbling waves \dm nlfjlt V to all the mazy world Uf I 1 tm t ! — who. upfurl'd It tl I d y ng a triple hour, Fi t d 1 s? _ Thus, in the bower, E I aim d to life again. Op h Id ih a healthier brain, H 1 1 f I ll thine endearing love \ll 1 b : thou art as a dove II Id ves and sleeked fvings M dip arliesl dew not brings I n. from the fields of May, \ i I b ght drops that twinkling stray F m h)^ k d } — the ven' home and haunt 01 ly ff Can I want A ^1 1 1 gh er heaven, than such tears? \ d y th p b dding hence all fears Ti t y 1 f, I w 11 p.iss my days d -ad N 1 will once more raise M th ; Make my horn parley Ai^aln mv trooping hounds their tongues shall loll Around the breathed boar: again Til poll Book i.] ENDYMION. 89 And, if thy lute is here, softly intreat My soul to keep in its resolved course." Hereat Peona, in their silver source, Shut her pure sorrow drops with glad exclaim, 490 .And took a lute, from which there pulsing came A lively prelude, fashioning the way In which her voice should wander. 'T was a lay More subtle cadenced, more forest wild Than Dryope^s lone lulling of her child ; 495 And nothing since has floated in the air So mournful strange. Surely some influence rare Went, spiritual, through the damsel's hand ; For still, with Delphic emphasis, she spanned The quick invisible strings, even though she saw 500 Endymion's spirit melt away and thaw Before the deep intoxication. (494-5) This couplet is marginally substituted in the manuscript for the following six lines: More forest-wild, more subtle-cadenced Than can be told by mortal : even wed The fiiinting tenors of a thousand shells To a million whisperings of Lilly bells ; And mingle too the Nightingale's complain Caught in its hundredth echo ; 't would be vain :... Strikingly characteristic as this is of the ruling mood of Keats, one cannot regret the liberality of rejection which threw it aside for the incomparable reference to Pan's mother in the couplet of the text. It is just conceivable that the passage given in the foot-note to line 853 of Book II was a part of the original conception of this epi- sode, but hardly probable. (496) In the manuscript, this line begins with For, And being jotted as a sugges- tion in the margin. (502) The use of this word intoxication as a full five-syllable word accented on the final syllable, and a similar use of many words terminating in ion, has been a topic of frequent censure with Keats's critics ; but I presume no one at the pres- ent day needs to be told that this was merely another Elizabethan licence r*rpro- duced. Here is one of many instances from Shakespeare {Romeo and Jului, Act III. Scene v, line 29) : Some say the lark makes sweet division, and one from Spenser {Faerir Qutene, Book III, Canto vill, stanza z) : Lo oft as I this history record My heart doth melt with meere compassion. To think how causelesse, of her owne accord, This gentle damzell whom I write upon. Should plonged be in such affliction... Spenser, indeed, availed himself so often and so unsparingly of this facil'; way of rhyming and scanning that it may well have happened that K^af.s'H ard'rnt admir.i' tion for the elder poet led him to think even this a beauty to tj«: imitat<;d. I Kkxk urtj ENDYMION. \',\\\ sniiu shi; camK, wiili sudden burst, upon i{ii- -,.li-|MjsM;ssion — swuQg (he lute aside, Aii:l . LI nisily said: " Brother, 'l 13 vain to hide TIi.l! iliuu (iiist know of tilings mysterious, liniii<>: Lil, si.irrv ; such alone could thus W . i^'i iliiun lli'y nature. Hast tliou sinn'd in augl I lifi ii^ni' 111 tilt heavenly powers? Caught A l',i|.li!,in (love upon a message sent? Thv iL.viliUil bow against sorne deer-herd bent, S.icVed to Di.iii? Haply, thou hast seen Her naked limbs among the aJdcrs green ; And that, alas ! is deaih. No 1 can trace -Somelhiag more high perplexing in thy face ! " fourteen consecuLjve lines in TV /^fl--ri> p«,-« (Booli III. Canto vi. stanca Sm'I 9),wliiclnvouidbei jonsidered very deficient in executive inveation nowadij*; Mirac ulouB may sec me to him that reades But reason leachetS that the fruiifull wades Of 1 lU tilings living. Ihrongh impreslion Oft Doe : life eonceiue and quickned are tiv krtid : So, after Nllus inundation. Tnfii nite shapes of creatures men doc fynd Infcrn led in the mud on whicti the Sunoe hath shynd. Book i.] ENDYMION. . gi EndymioQ look'd at her, and press'd her hand. And said, ■■ Art thou so pale, who wast so blaod Ai)d merry in our meadows? How b this? Ti:ll me thine ailment ; tell me all amiss ! — Ah ! lliuu hast been unhappy at the change 520 Wrought suddenly in me. What indeed more strange? .Or more complete to overwhelm surmise? Ambition is no sluggard ; H b no prize, Thjl toiling years would put within my grasp. That I have sigli'd for: with so deadly gasp 535 No man e'er panted for a mortal love. So all have set my heavier grief above These things which happen. Rightly have they done; I, who slill saw the horizontal sun Heave his broad shoulder o'er the edge of Uie world, 530 Out-facing Lucifer, and then had hurl'd My spear aloft, as signal for the chace — 1, who, for very sport of heart, would race With my own steed from Araby ; pluck down A vulture from his towery perching; frown S3S A lion into growling, loth retire — To lose, at once, all my toil breeding fire. And sink thus low I but I will ease my breast Of secret grief, here in this bowery nest. " This river does not see the naked sky, 540 Till it begins to progress silvcrly Around the western border of the wood, Whence, from a certain spot, its winding flood Seems at the distance like a crescent moon: And in that nook, the very pride of June, 545 (530) In the manuscripl we ttad a' Ikt imrld for of tki world. Compare nionUOD. Wintir, lines 780-1, Broad o'er the south, hangi at his utmost noon. (S3t| The tasi of the stars to disappear txlbre the lisiog sun. Ovid says {Mtla- morfkaiti. Book II, verses 114-15), Difliigiunt 3tell»; quarum a; gift This couplet Is sc And come to such a Ghosi as I am now! But listen, Sister, I will tell the bow. Fntiably lie was meant lor Out ; but perhaps not. (545) Instead of this aad the faUowisc line, the manasciipt oiif^nally bad tU ENDYMION. Hnd I been us'd to pass my weaiy evea ; The rather for the sun UDwilling leaves Su dear a picture of his sovereign power. And I coutd witness hiii most kingly hour. When he doth tighten up llie goldcd reins. And paces leisurely down amber plains His .snorlitig four. Now when his chariot last lis buLinis iii;iiin^t thi: zodiac-lion east, There blossoin'Li suddenly a magic bed Of sacred ditamy, and poppies red: At which I wondered greatly, knowing well That but one nighl had wrought this flowery spell ; And. sitting down close by, began to muse What it might mean. Perhaps, thought I, Morpheus, In pas.sing here, his owlet pinions shook; Or, it may be, ere matron Night uptook Her ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth, Had dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth Came not by common growth. Thus on I thought. Until my head was dizzy and distraught. Moreover, through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling lo my soul; And shaping visions all about my sight Of colours, wings, and bursts of spangly light ; Book l] ENDYMION. 93 And then I fell asleep. Ah, can I tell The enchantment that afterwards befel ? Yet it was but a dream : yet such a dream That never tongue, although it overteem 575 With mellow utterance, like a cavern spring. Could figure out and to conception bring All I beheld and felt. Methought I lay Watching the zenith, where the milky way Among the stars in virgin splendour pours ; 580 And travelling my eye, until the doors Of heaven appeared to open for my flight, I became loth and fearful to alight From such high soaring by a downward glance : So kept me steadfast in that airy trance, 585 Spreading imaginary pinions wide. When, presently, the stars began to glide, And faint away, before my eager view : At which I sighM that I could not pursue. And dropt my vision to the horizon's verge ; 590 And lo ! from opening clouds, I saw emerge The loveliest moon, that ever silver'd o'er A shell for Neptime's goblet : she did soar So passionately bright, my dazzled soul Commingling with her argent spheres did roll 595 Through clear and cloudy, even when she went At last into a dark and vapoury tent — Whereat, methought, the lidless-eyed train Of planets all were in the blue again. To commune with those orbs, once more I rais'd 600 My sight right upward : but it was quite daz'd By a bright something, sailing down apace. Making me quickly veil my eyes and face : (573) l^i^ ^^'^ i^ given as in the manuscript and in Keats's edition. That its haltncss was felt is perhaps indicated by the fact that something has been written over it in pencil and nibbed out again. I suppose we are to accentuate enchant wunt on the first syllable. (58a) Cancelled manuscript reading seemed for appear' d. (596) Compare Thomson's Seasons, Spring, line 332, From clear to cloudy tossed. (599) Cancelled manuscript reading, were all, for all were. (6oo-z) This couplet stood thus in the manuscript originally — And to commune with them once more I rais'd My eyes right upward : but they were quite dazed.. bat h is altered to correspond with the printed text. ENDVMIOff, Aipin I look'd, and, 0 ye deities, Will) fiuiii Oivmpus watch our destiniesl Will ncL' lli.it completed form of all completeness? Will nil.' f.iiiii; that high perfection of all-sweetness? Sjii ik. •.uiljl.iorii earth, and tell me where, O where Hast thou a symbol of her golden hair? Not oat -sheaves drooping in the western sun ; Not — thy soft hand, fair sister ! let me shun Such fullymg before thee — yet she had, IhiIae], lucks bright enough to make me mad; And till) wcri; simply gordian'd up and braided, I.i .LviriLi. in naked comeliness, unshaded, I li 1 [ii-.irl round ears, while neck, and orbed brow; 'rlir i'.lu<-li were blended in, I know not how. With '-iicii a jiaradise of lips and eyes, l'>]ii'-li-iin1i'(l cheeks, half smiles, and faintest sighs, Tliiii. l^ln.■n 1 think thereon, my spirit dings And plays about its fancy, tUI the slings Of human neighbourhood envenom all. Unto what awful power shall 1 callP To what high fane ? — Ah ! see her hovering feet. More bluely vein'd. more soft, more whiiely sweet Tlian those of sea-born Venus, when she rose 1 out her craille shell. The wind out-blows Book i.] ENDYMION. 95 1 felt upmounted ia that region Where falling stars dart their artillery forth. And eagles struggle with the buffeting north That ballances the heavy meteor-stone ; — ■ Felt too, I was not fearful, nor alone, 645 But lapp'd and luli'd along the dangerous sky. Soon, as it seem'd, we left our journeying high. And straightway into frightful eddies awoop'd; Such as aye muster where grey time has scoop'd Huge dens and caverns in a mountain's side : 650 There hollow sounds arous'd me, and I sigh'd To faint once more by looking on my bliss — 1 was dblracted ; madly did 1 kiss The wooing arms which held me, and did give My eyes at once to death : but \ was to live, 655 To take in draughts of life from the gold fount Of kind and passionate looks; to count, and count The moments, by some greedy help that seem'd A second self, that each might be redecm'd And plunder'd of its load of blessedness. 660 Ah, desperate mortal ! I e'en dar'd to press Her very check against my crowned lip, And, at that moment, felt my body dip Into a wairner air: a moment more. Our feet were soft in flowers. There was store 665 I64I) See note to verse w, (646) This line stood dinerenll]' in (he manuiciipl a) first, nnd was followed by two others, now struck out, — thus : But lapp'd and luli'd in lafe deliriousness ; Sle^y with deep foretasting, llial did bless My Soul from Madness, '1 was such certainty. (648) Cancelled manuscript ^^^\.Ttg, fiatful iat frigklfuL &(9) TTie manuscripl reads ayi. ihe first edition ay. (631) In this line Ihe more violent expression diid is judiciously superceded by tigkd. (661) In Ihe manuscript, t'tn. not n'n as in the lirsl edition. The manuscript should rule bete, because the presence of Ihe v upsets the rhythm, (t^) In the tnanusciipl, ckeeks, wilh Ihe f sliuck oui. (665) After J[o\otri in this line occurs the following cancelled passage in Ihe nuouscripl : Huny o-er O lacrilesioai tongue the t>esl be dumb; For thomd one liitle accent from thee come On such a daring theme, at] other sounds Would sicken ai ii. as would tiealen hounds Scare the elyiian Nightingales, ftetween these obliterated Lines is a chaos of nibt>ed-out pencillings, of which Ihe ' ' '■ " ' "n tnal Lines, and not a con- le is so tar recoverable tbftl we can safety ca ENDYMION. Of newest joys upon that alp. Sometimes A siiv.-a\ of violets, and blossoming limes, Loiier'd around us ; then of honey celb. Made delicate from all white-flower bells; And once, above the edges of our nest, An arch face pecp'd, — an Oread as 1 guess'd. ■■ Why did I dream (hat sleep o'er-power'd me In midst of all this heaven? Why not see, i'ar off, the shadows of his pinions dark, And stare them from me? But no, like a spark That needs must die. although its little beam Reflects upon a diamond, my swcel dream Fell into nothing — into stupid sleep. And so it was, until a gentle creep, A ciirefiil mo\ing caught ray waking ears, Aiirl i]]i I ■.tiirted : Ah \ my sighs, my tears. Ml ill lir.-lii f! hands; — for lo ! the poppies hung !)< u d.i'likd on their stalks, the ouzel sung A liij.v. \ 'liliy, and the sullen day :r:ild Hesperus away. K.ks: ild self did I. Book i.] ENDYMION. 97 Of dying fish ; the vermeil rose had blown In frightful scarlet, and its thorns out-grown Like spiked aloe. If an innocent bird Before my heedless footsteps stirr'd, and stirrM In little journeys, I beheld in it 700 A disguised demon, missioned to knit My soul with under darkness ; to entice My stumblings down some monstrous precipice : Therefore I eager followed, and did curse The disappointment. Time, that aged nurse, 705 Rock'd me to patience. Now, thank gentle heaven ! These things, with all their comfortings, are given To my down-sunken hours, and with thee, Sweet sister, help to stem the ebbing sea Of weary life."*' Thus ended he, and both 710 Sat silent : for the maid was very loth To answer ; feeling well ihat breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun. She weeps, 715 And wonders ; struggles to devise some blame ; To put on such a look as would say. Shame On this poor weakness ! but, for all her strife. She could as soon have crushed away the life And crushed out lives, by secret barbarous ways. From a sick dove. At length, to break the pause, 720 She said with trembling chance : ** Is this the cause? This all? Yet it is strange, and sad, alas I That one who through this middle earth should pass Most like a sojourning demi-god, and leave His name upon the harp-string, should achieve 725 No higher bard than simple maidenhood, (719) Compare Thomson's Seasons, Winter, line 374 — And crushed out lives, by secret barbarous ways. (722) There is a rejected passage here in the manuscript, which stands thus : — This all ? Yet it is wonderful — exceeding — And yet a shallow dream, for ever breeding Tempestuous Weather in that very Soul That should be twice content, twice smooth, twice whole, As is a double Peach. T is sad Alas ! In altering this for the reading of the text Keats 1 ft the line thus, short by a foot, This all ? Yet it is sad Alas ! The words strange and^cm. to have been put in in proof. El^DVMION. Sinking alone, and fearfully, — how the biood Left Ills vDuiig cheek; and how he us'd to stray He knew not where; and how he would say. nay. If any said "t w;Ls love : and yet 'I was love ; \Vli:ii cfiiikl it bt but love? How a ring-dove l.,i t.ill .1 sjirig of yew tree in his path; Ari.l Imh 111' (Ji'd : and then, that love doth scathe, rill' l;. n'.lr heart, as northern blasts do roses; .\\\t\ iliuii the ballad of his sad life closes Willi -sijjhs. and an alas 1 - — Kndymion I lie rather in the trumpet's moutli, — - anon Among the winds at large — that all may hearkea I Although, before the ciystal heavens darken, 1 watch and dole upon the silver lakes I'ictur'd in western cloudiness, that takes The semblance of gold rocks and bright gold sands, KLinrls, and creeks, and amber- fret ted strands Willi liiir-ii.-s prancing o'er them, palaces .\li(I L.'.'.irs (if amethyst, — would I so teaie -Ml j;^.i-.,uu il.iys, because I could not mount lnj^e regions? The Morphean fount t Unc element that visions, dreams, And litful whims of sleep are made of, streams " V channels with so aiihlle. Book i.] ENDYMION. 99 Widened a little, as when 2^ph3rr bids A little breeze to creep between the fens Of careless butterflies : amid his pains 765 He seem'd to taste a drop of manna-dew. Full palatable ; and a colour grew Upon his cheek, while thus he lifefiil spake. ** Peona ! ever have I long*d to slake My thirst for the world's praises : nothing base, 770 No merely slumberous phantasm, could unlace The stubborn canvas for my voyage prepar'd — Though now \ is tatter'd ; leaving my bark bar'd And sullenly drifting ; yet my higher hope Is of too wide, too rainbow-large a scope, 775 To fret at myriads of earthly wrecks. Wherein lies happiness? In that which becks Our ready minds to fellowship divine, A fellowship with essence ; till we shine, (764) The word breeze does not occur here in the manuscript, which gives BrecUh, that word being written over Puff, struck out. The expression fans, though a little whimsical, is a rich and happy designation of the wings of butter- flies. (770) The present Laureate owes to a mere accident this precedent for the term he applies to the coinage of his predecessor — Of him who uttered nothing base. In the manuscript the finals of this couplet were originally mean and unseam ; and Keats seems to have discovered that those words do not rhyme, before parting with the manuscript. (776) The original lines in the manuscript at this point are — To fret at myriads of earthly wrecks. Wherein lies happiness? In that which becks Our ready minds to blending pleasuruble : And that delight is the most treasurable That makes the richest Alchymy. Behold The clear Religion of Heaven 1 Fold A Rose leaf &c. This appears to have been next altered to To fret at sight of this world's losses. For behold Wherein lies happiness Peona. Fold A Rose leaf &c. But the words cU sight are separately cancelled, as if that line had been set to rights before the whole passage was struck out, and the six lines of the printed text supplied in the margin. The reading of the text was supplied in a letter from Keats to Taylor bearing the postmark " Hampstead, 30 Jan. 1818"; but in that letter line 781 reads The clear religion of Heaven — Peona 1 fold... As to the pronunciation of religion as four fiill syllables, see note to line 503. lOO ENDYMION. Fvill alchemii'd, and free of space. Behold Till: tltar relii,'ion of heaven 1 Fold A rose li:af round Ihy finger's tapemess. And soothe tliy lips: hist, when the airy stress Of musics kis.s impregnates Ihe free winds. And \^iill .1 sympathetic touch unbinds ,-l-iili.LiL iii,iL:ii: from their lucid wombs: 'I lii-n i>lil --lings walten from encUuided tombs; I 'III Jiiii'-, -iii;h above their father's grave ; (liii)-!-. .if iTiLlodious prophecjings rave l-iiiiind ■.\i\\ spot where trod Apollo's foot; iliiiii;'j liaiions awake, and faintly bruit, Wliiiv lijni; ago a giant battle was ; And. from the turf, a lullaby doth pass in every place where infant Orpheus slept. Feel we these things ? — that moment have we st Into a sort of oneness, and our slate Is like a floatinf; spirit's. But there are Richer entangk'mcnts, enthralments far More sdf-dcstroying, leading, hy degrees. To the chief intensity : the crown of these Is made of love and friendship, and sits high Lipon the forehead of humanity. e ponderous and bulky worth ^ Book i.] ENDYMION. lOl And we are nurtured like a pelican brood. 815 Aye, so delicious is the unsating food, That men, who might have tower'd in the van Of all the congregated world, to fan And winnow from the coming step of time All chaff of custom, wipe away all slime 820 Left by men-slugs and human serpentry. Have been content to let occasion die, Whilst they did sleep in love's elysium. And, truly, I would rather be struck dumb. Than speak against this ardent listlessncss : 825 For I have ever thought that it might bless The world with benefits unknowingly ; As does the nightingale, upperched high. And cloistered among cool and bunched leaves — She sings but to her love, nor e'er conceives 830 How tiptoe Night holds back her dark-grey hood. Just so may love, although \ is understood The mere commingling of passionate breath. Produce more than our searching witnesseth : What I know not : but who, of men, can tell 835 That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell To melting pulp, that fish would have bright mail. The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale. The meadows runnels, runnels pebble-stones, The seed its harvest, or the lute its tones, 840 Tones ravishment, or ravishment its sweet If human souls did never kiss and greet? ** Now, if this earthly love has power to make Men's being mortal, immortal ; to shake Ambition from their memories, and brim 845 Their measure of content ; what merest whim, Seems all this poor endeavour after fame. To one, who keeps within his stedfast aim A love immortal, an immortal too. (823) Cancelled manuscript reading. Whiles for Whilst. (844) Man*s instead of Mi n's in the manuscript, but there is an e pencilled over the a as if for consideration. (847) This line originally began with Shrws, — altered in the manuscript to Seems. (849) In the manuscript thus — A Love immortal, and immortal too. Them of the first immortal is underlined in pencil and the word both pencilled over; but it is not clear whether the writing is Keats 's. In his edition we have an for and, which appears to be the right reading, though from the bewilderment oi 1 ENDYMIOIV. Look not so « ilder'd ; for these things are true, And never can be born of alomies That buzz about our slumbers, like brain-flies. Leaving us fancy-sick. No. no, I'm sure, My restless spirit never could endure To brood so long upon one luxury, Unless it did, though fearfully, espy A hope beyond the shadow of a dream. My savings will the less obscured seem. When I have told thee how my waking sight Has made me scruple whether that same night Was jiass'd in dreaming. Hearken, sweet Peonat Beyond the matroti-leinple of Latona, Which we should see but for these darkening boughs. Lies a deep hollow, from whose ragged brows Bushes and trees do lean all round athwart, And iTieel so nearly, that with wings outraught. And spreaded tail, a vutlure could not glide Past them, but he must brush on every side. Some moulder'd steps lead into this cool cell, s the slabbed margin of a well, ie jiatient level peeps its crystal eve Kighl upward, through the tiushes, to the sky. ~" ■ 1 brought Ihee flower;, on iheir stalks ' Book i.] ENDYMION. Of o'er-head clouds melling the mirror through. Upon a day, while thus I watch'd, b)' flew A cloudy Cupid, with his bow and quiver ; So plainly chaiactcr'd, no breeze would shiver The happy chance : so happy, I was fain To follow ii upon ihe open plain. And. therefore, was just going ; when, behold ! A wonder, fair as any I have told — The same bright bee 1 tasted in my sleep. Smiling in the dear well. My heart did leap Through the cool depth. — It mov'd as if to flee — I started up, when lo ! refrcshfully, There came upon my face, in plenteous showers. Dew-drops, and dewy buds, and leaves, and flowers, Wrapping aJi objects from my smothered sight, Bathing my spirit in a new delight. Mercifully, a UnkiD'd in us by raving, pang and stuan , And do preserve it like a lilly root, Thai, in anollier spring, it ma)' outshoot From in winlry prison : lei this hour go Drawling alone lis heavy neiglit ol Koe AndleavemeTivine! 'T Is nol more Ihanneed — Your veijesi help. Ah t how long did I feed they did And leave the liquid smoolh again, hov O 't «as as if the bI>so1uic sisters had My Life into Ihe compass of a Nut Or all my breathing and shut To a scanty straw. To look above I ft Lest my hot eyelralls might Ik burnt an Ely a blank naught. It moved as it to I ['^'"'"[reflected. How my heart did leap_. wrote Down instead of Thraitgh as the initial word of lino B97. The cancelled twenty ol wtiich there are two readings is How hovei'd tnealhless at the lender lure 1 EN-DYMlOti. ii brtalhlcss honey-feel of bliss .■I v'd me from the drear abyss e fair form had gone again. „ft a V t pain ., like the gnawing sloth < 'ii lilt (leer's lender haunches : late, aad loth, ■|' ii sc.iiM away by slow returning pleasure. iliiiv Mfki.-Tiing, how dark the dreadful leisure i.il \VL-:ir\ days, made deeper exquisite, I!y a fore -knowledge of unslumbrous night! Like sorrow canie upon me. heavier still, Than when I wander'd from the poppy hill : And a whole age of lingering momeats crept Sluggishly by, ere more contentment swept Away at once (he deadly yellow spleen. Yes, thrice have I this fair enchantment seen ; Once more been tortured with renewed life. When last the wintry gusis gave over strife With the conquering sun of spring, and left the skies Warm and serene, but yet with moistened eyes 111 pity of the shatler'd infant buds, — ■ e thou didst adorn, with amber studs. My hunting cap, because I laugh'd and smil'd, Ciialled with thee, and many days exii'd ii 44 «« 44 44 44 44 Book l] ENDYMION. 1 05 Thick, as to curtain up some wood-nymph's home. •♦ Ah ! impious mortal, whither do I roam? " Said I, low voic'd: ** Ah, whither! 'T is the grot •* Of Proserpine, when Hell, obscure and hot. Doth her resign ; and where her tender hands 945 She dabbles, on the cool and sluicy sands : ** Or 't is the cell of Echo, where she sits, •* And babbles thorough silence, till her wits *« Are gone in tender madness, and anon, ** Faints into sleep, with many a dying tone 950 *• Of sadness. O that she would take my vows. And breathe them sighingly among the boughs. To sue her gentle ears for whose fair head. Daily, I pluck sweet flowerets from their bed. And weave them dyingly — send honey- whispers 955 Round every leaf, that all those gentle lispers ** May sigh my love unto her pit>ing ! ** O charitable echo ! hear, and sing ** This ditty to her ! — tell her " — so I stay'd My foolish tongue, and listening, half afraid, 960 Stood stupefied with my own empty folly. And blushing for the freaks of melancholy. Salt tears were coming, when I heard my name Most fondly lippM, and then these accents came : ** Endymion ! the cave is secreter 965 ** Than the isle of Delos. Echo hence shall stir No sighs but sigh- warm kisses, or light noise * Of thy combing hand, the while it travelling cloys And trembles through my labyrinthine hair.'' At that oppressed I hurried in. — Ah ! where 970 Are those swift moments ? Whither are they fled ? rU smile no more, Peona ; nor will wed Sorrow the way to death ; but patiently (960) In the manuscript, listening b contracted to Usfning, (964) There is a cancelled passage here in the nianuscript after Most fondiy lipfd, thus — I kept me still — it came Again in passionatest syllables. And thus again that voice* s tender swells : and there is another rejected reading of one line — Again in passionate syllables : saying :..• ^969^ In the manuscript liibyrinthian for labyrinthine, (970) The words At that oppressed I hurried in are struck out of the manuscript, though restored by a Stet^ and in the margin we have Since then I never anu 1 never saw her Beamiy more, both cancelled. 44 44 ENDYMION. BL'ar up against it ; so farewel, sad sigh ; Ami come instead demurest roeditation, T(i occiipy n:e ivholly. and to fashion Mv pilgrimage for the world's duslcy brink. No more will I count over, link by link, Mv chain of grief: no longer strive to find A lialf-forgetfulness in mountain wind Blustering about my cars : aye, ihou shalt see, Deuresl of sisters, what my life shall be; Whal a calm round of hours shall make my days. There is .1 paly flame of hope that plays Where'er 1 look : but yel. I'll say 'I is naught — And here I bid it die. Have not ! caught. Already, a more healthy countenance? By ihis the sun is setting; we may chance Meet some of our near^wellers with my car." This said, he rose, faint-smiling hke a star Tlirough aulumn mists, and took Peona's hand : They slept into the bo.it, and launch'd ham land, (990) Cnneelled minuseripl reading. Altkis (ar TJttj; ENDYMION. BOOK II. O SOVEREIGN power of love ! O grief! O balm 1 All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm. And shadowy, through the mist of passed years ; For others, good or bad, hatred and tears Have become indolent ; but touching thine, . j One sigh doth echo, one poor sob doth pine. One kiss brings honey-dew from buried days. The woes of Troy, towers smothering o'er their blare, StilT-holden shields, far-piercing spears, keen blades. Straggling, and blood, and shrieks — all dimly fades lo Into some backward comer of the br^n ; Yet, in our very souLi, we feel amain The close of Troilus and Cress id sweet. Hence, pageant history ! hence, gilded cheat I two sFparalc manuiciipts, as _ 10 I w undersiood Ihat, when IS used, the reading is from Ihc finished copy lenl lo the press, ana inai inc lerm arafl refers )o the copr of the last ihiee Books which was writlen inio a blank book before lieing fairly Iranscribed tor ihe printer. (5) TY,tAn!fi.naiMiat O I for lkini\naia.A of but touching thin. (7J In the draft. Jnrrfi (or iriugi. Compare this line vriih Ihe following frorn Enjoy Ihe honey-heavy dew oX slumljer {y%liiu Caiar, Acl II, Scene I, line 230); d honey secrets shall Ihou know : ( Fcnut end Adonis, line 16) ; line in Coleridge's XuiJa K'haH. For be on honey-dew hath led. (8) The dnft reads cniMiif {at Jmalkeriug: and in the neit line far-rtttking tfiart, cUar iladti. (ij-M) In Ihe drall this couplet was written — The close of Troilus and Ciessida. Hence pageant history 1 away proud star. In (he final manuscitpt there is a. cancelled reading of line 14. Away pageant History ! away proud dull feat. A doubt af^MBis to bave been eplerlained as to the preciM raluc of clatt In this ENDYMION. S»art piaoet in the universe of deeds ! Widt sea, that one continuous murmur breeds Along the pebbled sliore of memory ! Many old rotten -timber'd boats there be U|>on ihy vaporous bosom, magnify'd To goodly vessels ; many a sail of pride. And golden keel'd, is left unlaunch'd and dry. But wherefore this? What care, though owl did fiy About the great Athenian admiral's mast? What care, though striding Alexander past The Indus with his Macedonian numbers? Though old Ulysses tortured from his slumbers The glutted Cyclops, what caref — Juliet leaning Amid her window- flowers, — sighing, — weaning Tenderly her /ancy from its maiden snow. Doth more avail than these : the silver flow Of Hero's tears, the swoon of Imogen, Fair Pastorella in the bandit's den. Are things lo brood on with more ardency Than the death-day of empires. Fearfiilly Must such conviction come upon his head, Who. thus far. discontent, has dar'd lo tread. Without one muse's smile, or kind behest, The path of love and poesy. But rest, Book ii.] ENDYMION. In chalBog restlessness, is yet more drear Than to be crush'd, in striving to uprear Luve's standard on Ihe baltlemeats of song. So once more days and nights aid me along. Like legion'd soldiers. Brain-sick sheplierd prince, What promise hast thou Mthfiil guarded since The day of sacrifice? Or, have new sorrows Come with the constant dawn upton thy morrows? Alas ! 'tis his old grief. For many days. Has he been wandering in uncertain ways : Through wilderness, and woods of mossed oaks; Counting hb woe-worn minutes, by the strokes Of the lone woodcutter; and listening still, Hour after hour, to each lush-leav'd rill. Now he b silting by a shady spring, And elbow-deep with feverous fingering Stems the upbursting cold : a wild rose tree Pavillions him in bloom, and he doth see A bud which snares his fancy: lo! but now He plucks it, dips its stalk in the water : how ! ml as employed on Ihls occasion. What was oiiginally writlen w ckdffing daconlcnl. Though iho verb to rat a a common equivalen ■■--- usually a sense of recuperation after labour; ■- jnsidering how ii came here, merelyin" '' "' ._,. fiHsit. The final manuseiipl and the peluate the woid chaffing for ehaJiHg. Spenser spells Ihe wiih a K also, thus {Fairie Qmtni. Book VI, Canto 1!, slan counting this broken line as two. the prin edition, ihus throwinjg out the whole of the numbering to the end of '&ook II; and the metrical numbeiing is further falsifietl in two similar instances hirther on. (+4) See the promises recorded in lines 477 tl stq. and 978 ct seq. of Book 1. (49) The words brittU mossed pats occur in Ihe draft for ttiHidi e/mosicd aaii. (51) Cancelled Kadine in the draft dUtOAi, and in the manuscript lomfy. for losu. (Sa) This tine is precisely according lo Ih- - -— — ■ ■'--':— -•■■■■ thai there can be no doubt the word hear is ' (53) £■« wiwiAr'J occurs in the draft in f (56) The draft gives the reading Bindi (37) In the dnifl, lakel for laartl. (^) In the manuscript, in was originally ENDYMION. li swells, ii buds, it flowers beneath his sight; And, in the middle, there is softly pighl A golden butterfly ; upon whose wings Tlitre must be surely characler'd strange things. For will] wide eye he wonders, and smiles oft. Ligiitly this little herald flew aloft, FoUort'd by glad Endymlon's clasptd hands : Dnivard it flies. From languor's sullen bands His liiiilis .irc loos'd, and eager, on he hies l.Vi.','li-il to tr.ice it in the sunny skies. h -iiiu'd ho Hl-w, the way so easy was; And liki' A new-born spirit did he pass Through the green evening quiet in the sun. O'er many a heath, through many a woodland dun, Tlirough buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams The summer time away. One track unseems A iviiiiJed deft, and, far away, the blue I II iii.i.'.iti fades upon him; then, anew, III -.inks .idown a solitary glen, Whi.ri. iliere was never sound of mortal men, Saving, perhaps, some snoiv-light cadences Melting to silence, when upon the breeze Some holy bark let forth a Book ii.] ENDYMlOfT. That, near a cavern's mouth, for ever pour'd Unto the temperate air: then h[gh it soar'd. And, downward, suddenly began to dip. As if, alhirst with so much toil, ^twoutd sip Thy crystal spout-head : so it did, with touch Most delicate, as though afiaid to smutch Even with mealy gold the waters clear. But. at that very touch, to disappear So fairy-quick, was strange ! Bewildered, Endj-mion sought around, and shook each bed Of covert flowers in vain ; and then he flung Himself along the grass. What gentle tongue, What whisperer disiurb'd his gloomy rest? It was a nymph uprisen to the breast In the fountain's pebbly margin, and she stood 'Mong hllies, like the youngest of the brood. To him her dripping hand she softly kist. And anxiously began to plait and twist Her ringlets round her fingers, saying i " Youth I Too long, alas, hast thou starv'd on the ruth. The bitterness of love ; too long indeed. Seeing ihou art so gentle. Could 1 weed Thy soul of care, by heavens, I would offer All the bright riches of my crystal coffer To Amphitrite ; all my clear-ey'd fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze ; Yea, or my veined pebble-floor, that draws (86) The draft reads wkertat it loat'd, and begins the next line w liQiGu] of And. (93) A( this poinlthedraA has the rejected reading — Endymion all around the wellda aped Hli aniious sighl, Mid a further variaiion is Engymion pry'd arautid. (96-97) In the draft ihe» two lines were wiitten — His sullen Umbi upoD Ihe grass — what tongue. What airy whisperer spoilt his aogi; rest ? (99) Here is a fiutber Instance of the contmcled /' being altered 10 (■nulled manuscript. In the diafl baim occuia in the place olwurgin. (loa) In the draft is the variation And earelessly beran 10 twIoB and Iwht Her ringlets 'bout tier fingen... ■ — ^--^-- — •''•o-riiUi/'bvt. Er/DYMiON. A virgin liglit to the deep; my grollo-sands T.iwny and gold, ooz'd slowly from far lands By my diligent springs; my level lillies, shells. My charming rod, my potent river spells; Ves, evL-ry thing, even to the peariy cup ,\leander gave me, — for I bubbled up To fainting creatures in a desert wild. Ikil woe is mc, 1 am but as a child T'l s'^'l'lcn ihee ; and all 1 dare to say, N. ili.ii I ]iity thee; that on this day r\, li .11 ihy gtiide; that thou miKt wander far 1 n i.p;!iLr ri';^ions, past the scanty bar To iiiurl^l steps, before thou cans'l be la'en Kroin every wasting sigh, from every pain. Into the gentle bosom of thy love. Why it is thus, one knows in heaven abovi. : But, a poor Naiad, 1 guess not. Farewell ! 1 liave a ditty for my hollow cell." Hereat, she vanished from Endymion's gare, Who brooded o'er the water in amaze : The da-shing fount pour'd on, and where its pool ', lialf asleep, in grass and rushes cool. ENDVM/OPf. Glow-worms began to trim their starry lamps. Thus breathM he to himself: >■ Whoso encamps To take a fancied city of delight, O what a wretch is he ! and when 'lb his, After long toil and travelling, to miss The kernel of his hopes, how more than vile; Yet, for him there's reftesliment even in toil; Another city doth he set about. Free from the smallest pebble-bead of doubt That he will seize on trickling honey-combs ; Alas, he finds them dry ; and then he foams. And onward to another city speeds. But this is human life : the war, the deeds. The disappointment, the anxiety. Imagination's stru^lcs, tar and nigh, All human ; bearing In themselves this good. That they are still the air, the subtle food, To make us feel existence, and to show How quiet death is. Where soil is men grow. Whether lo weeds or flowers ; but for me. There is no depth to strike in : I can see Nought earthly worth my compassing; so stand Upon a misty, jutting head of land — Alone? No, no; and by the Orphean lute. When mad Eurydice is listening to't ; rd rather stand upon this misty peak, le manner in which ihe rhyme to this line was lost appeon from the ■he passage Qi^nally ilood Ihiis : Whoso encamps "- ' '-- 1 cily of deliehl Uyoai ol and wicH 'lis his; but nothing was emedylhc defect thus produced. The original reading in the draft was Afttr long liigt and travailing ; but cd manuscript reads toii and travelling as in ihe text. The diaft reads €'in for evta. In Ihe first cdiMon. fciHe-\tad ! but inllie manuscript, /*W/<-*nii/, which i resloted in the corrected copy in my possession. The d— ^ — -■- "'-■ ti/ram. and in the neit line t/ieri Mill for ** wi" In the dialt, acts for war. Imaginiagi and tiarciings. in the draft. In ihe first Edition, liev), Htrt is soil lo grow lias originally written in Ihe In the draft. Alanet No. kiavim t Originally written rd ralJur iitU.inlhe drafL Owhalawre Ail tight was struck oi reading is '«! br F' le draft reads WiA- Si ENDYMION. Willi nol a thing to sigh for, or to seek, But the soft shnilow of my Ihrice-seen love, Thau be — I cire not what. O meekest dove Of hi;iven '. O Cynthia, lea-limua bright andbirl Fniiii lilt !.h:e tiiroiie, now filling 3II the air, ni.iiir,.- |,!ii i,nc little beam of tetnper'd light In;.. !ir, lusuin, thai the dreadful might Ail. I ii r.iiiny of love be somewhat scar'dl \i t I ill iLui ^o, sweet queen; one torment spor'd, Wiiiiid givi; a pang lo jealous misery, Worse than the torment's self: but rather tie Larjjc wings upon my shoulders, and point out My love's far dwelling. Though the playful rout Of Cupids shun thee, too divine ^rt thou. Too kk;en in beauty, for ihy silver prow Not lo have di|ip'd in love's most gentle stream. O be propitious, nor severely deem Mv madness impious; for, by all the stars Tl'i.vl iL'iiil lliv bidding, 1 tlo think the bars TliJi kfpt my spirit in are burst — that 1 Am sailing «ith thee Ihrougti the dizzy sky! itiful thou art ! The world how deep ! nilous-daizlingly the wheels sweep Arijimd their axle ! Then these gleaming reins, X)K II.] ENDYMJON. 1 1 5 And lifted hands, and trembling lips he stood ; Like old Deucalion mountain^d o^er the flood, Or blind Orion hungry for the mom. And, but from the deep cavern there was borne A voice, he had been froze to senseless stone ; 200 Nor sigh of his, nor plaint, nor passionM moan Had more been heard. Thus swell'd it forth : *• Descend, Young mountaineer ! descend where alleys bend Into the sparry hollows of the world ! Oft hast thou seen bolts of the thunder hurPd 205 As from thy threshold ; day by day hast been A little lower than the chilly sheen Of icy pinnacles, and dipp^dst thine arms Into the deadening ether that still charms Their marble being: new, as deep profound 210 As those are high, descend ! He ne'er is crown'd With immortality, who fears to follow Where airy voices lead : so through the hollow. The silent mysteries of earth, descend ! " He heard but the last words, nor could contend 215 One moment in reflection : for he fled Into the fearful deep, to hide his head From the clear moon, the trees, and coming madness. T*was far too strange, and wonderful for sadness ; (198) Here the draft yields the reading — Or blind Orion waiting for the dawn — lother evidence of Keats's determination to get rid of the false rhymes where jscrved. The next line was originally written — And, but from the hollow cavern there was bom — id I am not sure that born b not the word intended, though bome^ the reading of e first edition, must have the preference. ( aoi ) The original reading of the draft is Nor sigh of his, nor wild complaint nor moan. (204) This line originally began in the draft with the word Spiral, ( ao8) The draft has the read nig and couldst dip thy palms.,. (210) Cancelled reading of the manuscript, ^^ for deep. (211) In the draft As those were high, descend I He ne'er was crown'd... f 214) The draft nsids fearful for silent. ( 215 ) In the manuscript. But Uu last words he heard; but the reading of the text clearly a revision. f 218) The draft reads night for moon, and in the next line but one Upwindingior \arpening. ENDVMION. Hliarpening. by degrees, his appetite To dii'e inio ihe deepest. Daric nor light, The region ; nor bright, nor sombre wholly, But mingled up; a gleaming melancholy; A dusky empire and its diadems ; One faint eternal eventide of gems. Aye, millions sparkled on a vein of gold, Along whose track the prince quick footsteps told. With all its lines abrupt and angular : Out-shooting sometimes, like a meteor-star, Through a vast antre ; then the metal woof. Like Vulcan's rainbow, with some monstrous roof Curves hugely : now, far in the deep abyss. It seems an angry lightning, and doth hiss Fancy into belief: anon it leads Through winding passages, where sameness breeds Vexing conceptions of some sudden change ; Whether to silver grots, or giant range Of sapphire columns, or fantastic bridge Athwart a flood of crystal. On a ridge Now farelh he, thai oVr t'l' v -.; '■ :.. .i:li rs like an ocean-t ; ■ ' ■ -L.Li)i A hundred waterfalls, w Book ii.] EXD rJit::.\\ 1 1 7 Will be its high renacsLCnac** : urio liiej: The mighty ones who 2a.v« zsufit -i^iirsL iiij For Greece and En^iizd. WT*:> 3a£jr::s.'^egt With deep-drawn si^ra wa* jzgnn^. ]x«t -m^tzi 255 Into a marble galler}", pjsss:!^ rhr:iig!L A mimic temple, so cocpiet* izii :rie In sacred custom, iha: he weZ ni^:- Kar'd To search it inwards : wheaot fir oc appear'd. Through a long pillar'd vista, a isLX shnne, 260 And, just beyond, on light tiptoe divine, A quiver'd Dian. Stepping awfully. The youth approach'd ; oft turning his vciTd e}-c Down sidelong aisles, and into niches old. And when, more near against the marble cold 265 He had touch'd his forehead, he began to thread All courts and passages, where silence dead Rous'd by his whispering foot5te{>s murmured £unt : And long he travers*d to and fro, to acquaint Himself with ever}* mystery, and awe ; 270 Till, weary, he sat down before the maw Of a wide outlet, fathomless and dim, To wild uncertainty and shadows grim. There, when new wonders ceas'd to float before. And thoughts of self came on, how crude and sore 275 The journey homeward to habitual self! A mad-pursuing of the fog-bom elf, (253-4) Originally written in the draft — The mighty ones who've ihone aihwan the day Of Greece and Ei^land. (256-7) Cancelled reading from the draft — Into a marble gallery that near the roof Of a fair mimic Temple.^ (261-3) Cancelled reading from the draft — Thro* a long visf of columns a fcur shrine And just beyond lightly diminished A Dian quiver'd tiptoe, crescented — (264) The draft reads tideioay aisUs. (266) In the manuscript tread stands here altered to thread (267) The draft reads 7:i^for All. (269) The words ^ a^^^' in the manuscript are contracted to /'aflf chequer, nor, iip-pil'd, Thi- cloiidy r:ick siow journe^-ing in the west, (.■lii- hi-rdi'd i-lophants; nor felt, nor prest li.il L'-i"'., nor t,isled the fresh slumberous air; i;ii: fir friini such cornpanionship lo wear Xw iihlvLLowii lime, suriharg'd with grief, away, W.i'^ now his lot. And must he patient slay, Tiacing fantastic figures with his spear? " No! " exdaim'd he, ■' why should I tarry here?" No \ loudly echoed times innumerable. At which he straightway started, and 'gan tell lliji paces back into the temple's chief; Warming and glowing strong in the belief Book II.] ENDYMION. I19 Moving more near the while : " O Haunter chaste Of river sides, and woods, and heathy waste, Where witli thy silver bow and arrows keen Art Ihou now forested? O woodland Queen, 305 What smoothest air thy smoother forehead woos? Where dost thou listen to the widu halloos Of thy disparted nymphs? Through what dark tree Glimmers ihy crescent? Wheresoe'er it be, n'is in ihc breath of heaven : thou dost tasie 310 Freedom as none can taste it. nor dost waste Thy loveliness in dismal elements ; But, finding in our green earth sweet contents, There livest blissfully. Ah, if to thee It fuels Elysian, how rich to me, 31 5 An exil'd mortal, sounds its pleasant name! Within my breast there lives a choking flame — O let me cool 't the zephyr-boughs among! A homeward fever parches up my tongue — O let me slake it at the running springs ! 320 Upon my ear a noisy nothing rings — O lei me once more hear the linnet's note ! Before mine eyes thick films and shadows float — 0 let me 'noiot them with the heaven's light ! Dost thou now lave thy feet and ankles white? 335 O think how sweet lo me the freshening sluice ! Dost thou now please thy thirst with berry-juice? (304) TliB draft reads — Where now with mIybf bow and arrows keen An thou in coven hid? (308) In the d rail there is a rejecled reading, /J-Piw vihat Jrtf gUH~ (313) In (he finished munuscripl, en for in. (318) In (he finished roanuscnpi. cool'l for ceol it: ollicmse (he line is realty mitcn as the tint edition gives it — O let me cool it among llie zephyr-boughs I Bii( ii seems atisalutely certain Ihal among was meant la lie al the end. to rhyme ■ith lungut. — an assurance made doubly sure by the bet that the ilnc^HS oiiglnall; ninen in the draft — O lei me cool't among the waving boughs 1 tod maiiied Tor transposition of among to the end. Thus Keals clearly in cop)ing Ok line tillered loaving lo upl^ but forgot the tianspoaition, (319] Id the draft ibis line was vrrilten thus — A ferer parches up my suppliant tongue -~ kA then altered to An endleai ferer parehei up my lOBgue. (3^) In the finished manuscript Aoa ~ (J17) The draft reads titrrjf-Jaitt. I20 EN^DYMION. O lliink liow lhislinate silence came heavily again. Feeling about for its old couch of space And airy cradle, lowly bow'd his face Desponding, o'er the marble floor's cold IhriH. Hut "Iwas not long ; for, sweeter than the rill To its old channel, or a swollen tide To margin sallows, were the leaves he spied. And flowers, and wreaths, and ready myrtle crowna ITp heaping through Ihe slab : refreshment drowns Itself, and strives its own delights to hide — Nor in one spot alone ; the l^oral pride In a long whispering birth enchanted grew Bi:fore his footsteps ; as when heav'd anew ■ci'an rolls a lengthened wave to the shore, Hook II.] ENDYMION. 121 Down whose green back the short-livM foam, all hoar. Bursts gradual, with a wayward indolence. 350 Increasing still in heart, and pleasant sense, Upon his fairy journey on he hastes ; So anxious for the end, he scarcely wastes One moment with his hand among the sweets : Onward he goes — he stops — his bosom beats 355 As plainly in his ear, as the faint charm Of which the throbs were bom. This still alarm, This sleepy music, forc'd him walk tiptoe : For it came more softly than the east could blow Arion's magic to the Atlantic isles ; 360 Or than the west, made jealous by the smiles Of thron'd Apollo, could breathe back the lyre To seas Ionian and Tyrian. finished manuscript corresponds here precisely with the printed text ; and there can be no doubt the redundant tht in line 348 is an intentional undulation. Strictly there arc two undulations in the line, because the final syllabic of lengthened is to be pronounced, according to Keats's practice. (353) Th® manuscript reads waits in place of wastes, (359) I'* ^^ manuscript. For it is contracted into For't. (363) The draft suppues the history of the loss of a rhyme to this line; but I fear it must remain rhymeless. The passage was left thus in the draft : To seas Ionian and Tyrian. Dire Was the love lorn despair to which it wrought Endymion — for dire is the bare thought That among lovers things of tendcrest worth Are swallow'd all, and made a blank — a dearth By one devouring flame : and &r far worse Blessing to them l>ecome a heavy curse Half happy till comparisons of bliss To misery lead them. Twas even so with this.^ Before this was finished there were the following readings of two of the lines — Endymion — for dire to j ^^^ \ bosoms is the thought, and Half happy will they gaze upon the sky; and when the passage was altered in copying out the poem fot the press, the first reading (cancelled) of line 365 was — Whom, loving, Music slew not, while, in line 371, comparisons, not comparison, was written, and line 372 was left thus — Is miserable. T[was] e'en so with this... The omission of was is curious. It seems that, in altering line 363 and making line •^ rhyme with it, Keats overlooked the needs of line 362 : there is nothing in the bed manuscript to show that he or Taylor had any misgivings on the subject, \a sh'd 1 END YM ION. [KOOKIL \\T V\f that lonely man, 1 ■■iL slew not' 'Tis the peat 365 1 >s gi\e most unrest, L't ind tenderesl worth 11, iiiU made a ieared dearth. -. jiiiiiig rianie ■ ii doth immerse iLl true blessings in a curse 370 TH-as even so «ith this inn raelodv. w the Canan'a ear: i;, then hell, and then forgotten clear. elemental passion 375 And donn some swart ab\sm he had gone. H id not a heavenly guide benignant led To «htn. thick nijrtlc branches, 'gainst his head Brushing awakened then the sounds again Went noiseless is a passing noontide niin Over a bower, where little space he stood ; For IS the sunset peeps into a wood w he panting light, and towards it went Through winding alleys ; and lo, wondermenl ! le Ihere m Book ii.] ENDYMION. 1 23 Upon soft verdure saw, one here, one there, 385 Cupids a slumbering on their pinions fair. After a thousand mazes overgone, At last, with sudden step, he came upon A chamber, myrtle waird, embowered high. Full of light, incense, tender minstrelsy, 390 And more of beautiful and strange beside : For on a silken couch of rosy pride, In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth Of fondest beauty ; fonder, in fair sooth. Than sighs could fathom, or contentment reach : 395 And coverlids gold-tinted like the peach. Or ripe October's faded marigolds, should be compared with Spenser's account of "the gardins of Adonis" {Faerie Queene, Book HI, Canto VI) which probably suggested lo Kuats the embodiment of the legend in his poem. One would think stanzas 44, 46, and 47, at all events, must have been fresli in his memory : And in the thickest covert of that shade There was a pleasaunt Arber, not by art But of the trees owne inclination made, Which knitting their rancke braunchcs, part to part, With wanton yvie twine entrayld athwart, And Eglantine and Caprifole emong. Fashion'd above within their inmost part, 'Iliat neither Phcebus beams could through them throng. Nor Aeolus sharp blast could worke them any wrong. There wont fayre Venus often to enjoy Her deare Adonis joyous company, And reape sweet pleasure of the wanton ooy : There yet, some say, in secret he does ly, Lapped in flowres and pretious spycery, By her hid from the world, and from the skill Of Stygian Gods, which doe her love envy ; But sne her sclfe, when ever that she will, Possesseth him, and of his swcetnessc takes her fill. And sooth, it seeroes, they say ; for he may not For ever dye, and ever buried bee In balefuU night where all thinges are forgot : All be he subject to mortalitic, Yet is eteme m mutabilitie, And by succession made perpetuall, Transiormed oft, and chaunged diverslie. For him the Father of all formes they call : Therfore needs mote he live, that living gives to all. The word eterne (used further on, in Book III, line 4a) probably passed into Keats's vocabulary from this last stanza. (396-7) In the draft — And draperies mellow-tinted like the peach, Or lady peas entwined with marigolds. ■ I24 ENDYMION. a thousand folds — Fell sleek abni Not hiding; up an Apollonian curve Of iit-uk nml ^hijiililer, nor the tenting swerve Of knoe from knc;:, nor ankles pointing light; liiil r.alier. giving liiern to the filled sight or(li.i(iiir.]y. Sideiva)' liis face repos'd nil I nil.- M liilu .irm, and tenderly unclos'd, i:v t< ii'l Ti'-I jiressure. a faint damask mouth "I'l -liiinli. r> iKinl ; Just as the morning south I ii-]i.;i[- .1 (li'n-lipp'd rose. Above his head, Inur lill} si.ilks did their while honours wed "ill iillLl' ,1 ummal; and round him grew All ii-riilnl- ;;ri:L-n, of every bloom and hue, Tn:;,h his careless arms; content to'aee n^c'/d I L^xea dying at his feet ; ;nt D r 1 to make a cold retreat, 1 on ll e pleasant grass such love, lovelorn, IT n" when every tear was born 1 on \ hen htr ijps and eyes n ullcn moisture, and quick sight n i pelt sh through her nostrils sniall. Lla m — yet, justly mightst thou call pon h s htad — 1 was half glad, pjor tress went ilislract and mad, » iij ENDYMION, Sf this still region aJl his winler-slecp. Aye, sleep ; for when our love-sick queen did weep Over his waned corse, the Ireinulous shower HeaJ'd up Ihe wound, and, with a balmy power, Medicin'd death lo a lengthened drowsiness; The which she tills with visioiu, and doih dress In all this quiet luxury ; and hath set Us young immortals, without any let, To waich Ills slumber through. 'Tis well nigh pass'd. Even to a tnoments filling up, and fast She scuds wlih summer breeiea, to pant through The first long kiss, warm firstling, to renew Embower'd sports in Cytherea's isle. Look ! how those winged listeners all tliis while Stood anxious : see \ behold I " — This clamant word Broke through the careful silence; for they heard A rustling noise of leaves, and out there fiullcr'd Pigeons and doves : Adonis something mutler'd. The while one hand, that erst upon his thigh Lay dormant, mov'd convuls'd and gradually Up to his forehead. Then there was a hum Of sudden voices, echoing, "Come! come! Arise ! awake ! Clear summer has forth walk'd Unto the clover-sward, and she has talk'd Full soothingly lo every nested finch : Rise, Cupids \ or we'll give the blue-bell pinch To your dimpled arms. Once more sweet life begin 1 " At this, from every side they hurried in, ;4S3) Id the draft. Over this paly corse, Ihe crystal shower... 487) The draft readi Thin for Ut, and in the next two lines -uiiHUi 1 c»mfIuAi-bom. 130 ENDYMION. \ (lri\iry morning once I fled away lulu I lie lMii./y clouds, lo weep and pray i-.r till- iii> line: for vexing Mars had leai'd Ml- 111 iL III ii ,irs: thence, when a little eas'd, I )ii\\Ti-|i inlying, vacant, through a hazy wood, 1 s^nv this youth as he despairing slood : Those same dark curls blown vagrant in the wind; Tliose same full fringed lids a conslant blind Over his sullen eyes : I saw him throw fiimsflf Dn uiiher'd leaves, even as though Uunlli had came sudden ; for no jol he mov'd. Yet muttcrd wildly. I could hear he lov'd Some fair inimortaJ, and that his embrace H.iii zon'd her through the night. There is no trace Of this in heai'CD ; 1 have mark'd eacii cheek, And find il is lUe ^nest thing lo seek; And Ih^it i)f :ill things 'lis kept secretest. Kiidi niiiiii : one day thou wilt be blest; ^•' -.iill .■11. y ihi? guiding hand that fends I ; ~.\\A\ through these wonders for sweet ends. ri- .1 LuNLL-tilmcnt needful in. extreme; And if 1 guc^s'd not so, the sunny beam Thiiu shimldst rnoiint up lo with me. Now adieu! e leave thee." — At these words uptlew Book ii.] ENDYMION, 1 3 1 For all those visions were o'ergone, and past, And he in loneliness : he felt assurM 590 Of happy times, when all he had endur'd Would seem a feather to the mighty prize. So, with unusual gladness, on he hies Through caves, and palaces of mottled ore, Gold dome, and crystal wall, and turquois floor, 595 Black polish'd porticos of awful shade. And, at the last, a diamond balustrade. Leading afar past wild magnificence, Spiral through ruggedest loopholes, and thence Stretching across a void, then guiding o'er 600 Enormous chasms, where, all foam and roar. Streams subterranean teaze their granite beds ; Then heightened just above the silvery heads Of a thousand fountains, so that he could dash The waters with his spear; but at the splash, 605 Done heedlessly, those spouting columns rose Sudden a poplar's height, and 'gan to enclose His diamond path with fretwork, streaming round Alive, and dazzling cool, and with a sound. Haply, like dolphin tumults, when sweet shells 610 Welcome the float of Thetis. Long he dwells (589) We arc to understand that after For, the sense being doubtless that Endym- ion did not rave and stare on account of the departure of the visions, and not that the departure of the visions was a sufficient cause for his not raving and star- ing. Line 590 originally began with Leaving him solitary, (592) 'Ilie draft reads y>/ \ox prize, (596) Compare Sleep amd Poetry, lines 75-6, page 91 : and where I found a spot Of awfuller shade. (597-600) The draft reads — Then diamond steps and ruby balustrade Leading to fierce and wild magnificence Spiral by ruggedest loopholes, and thence Stretching across a void, then leading o'er... (602) In the draft we have Streams subterranean j ^^^jlgir [ granite beds ; and hundred for thousand in the next line but one. (606) The draft reads He playfully made in place of Done heedlessly, (607) In the finished manuscript, '^ox enclose ; but 'gan to enclose in the first edition. (608) In the draft we read His mid-air path with fretwork, quivering round... and in the next line but one loud for sweet. We must conclude the poet chose, for Thetis' sweet sake, to subdue into sweetness the orthodox clamour of the conchs blovkn at her approach over the sea* '32 ENDYMION. 1 )n ibk delight ; for, every minute's space, riir -iivjiiis uith changed magic interlace: .SiJiiiLiiuii'^ like delicalest lattices, CiuljiI Mill: crystal vines; then weeping trees, .Mavitvf; .ibout as in a gentle wind, \Vlii;:h, in a wink, to watery game refin'd, I'our'd into shapes of curtain'd canopies, .S|ianglr;d, and rich with liquid broideries or flowers, peacocks, swans, and naiads fair. Snifti:r (Ii^in lightning went these wonders rare; Anil ilu-n llie water, into stubborn streams Ciiil' 1 tin^, niimick'd the wrought oaken beams, rill. IIS, .i:»l frieie, and high fantastic roof, of III' -I' ili]-.k places in times far aloof (. .iiliiili.iK caird. He bade a loth farewell I'll til'-'' I'oLints Protean, passing gutph, and dell. And tiiirunl. and ten thousand jutting shapes, 11. lit -.1.1 II llircHigh deepest gloom, and griesly gapes, HI, II kiiiiiii; on every side, and overhead A \,iiiUtil {kmie like Heaven's, far bespread ii .-.[.irlight gems : aye, ail so huge and strange, solitary felt a hurried change Working within him into something dreary, — II.] ENDYMION. 133 me mother Cybele ! alone — alone — 640 sombre chariot ; dark foldings thrown )out her majesty, and front death-pale, ith turrets crown'd. Four maned lions hale le sluggish wheels ; solemn their toothed maws, leir surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy paws 645 )Iifted drowsily, and nervy tails iwering their tawny brushes. Silent sails lis shadow)' queen athwart, and faints away another gloomy arch. Wherefore delay, >ung traveller, in such a mournful place.? 650 t thou wayworn, or canst not further trace le diamond path ? And does it indeed end )rupt in middle air? Yet earthward bend ly forehead, and to Jupiter cloud-borne .11 ardently! He was indeed wayworn ; 655 )rupt, in middle air, his way was lost ; ) cloud-borne Jove he bowed, and there crost *-7) In the original draft, there were seven lines in place of the six of the hus — About her majesty, and her pale brow With turrets crown'd, which forward heavily bow Weighing her chin to the breast. Four lions draw The wheels in sluggish time — each toothed maw Shut patiently — eyes hid in tawny veils — Drooping about their paws, and nervy tails Cowering their tufted brushes to the dust. \ were crossed out ; and the passage, revised so as to approach the final teact, isertcd thus — About her majesty, and front death- pale With turrets crown'd. Four tawny lions hale The sluggish wheels ; solemn their \ ^51^^-* [ maws Their surly eyes half shut, their heavy paws Uplifted lazily, and nervy tails Vailing their tawny tufts. ; finished manuscript the passage was written precisely as in the printed text, t that sleepily was written in line 646 and then struck out ih favour of drowsily, 9) Into is here struck out in the finished manuscript, and In substituted. 7) In the original draft the supernatural machinery for this transit was entirely ent, thus — To cloudbome Jove he bent : and there was tost Into his grsLsping hands a silken cord At which without a single impious word He swung upon it off into the gloom. Down, down, uncertain to what pleasant doom, Dropt like a Dathoming plummet, down he fell Through unknown things ; till &c. T 1 1 3 4 ENDYMION. [Book h. Towards him n large eagle, 'Iwixl whose wings, Wiiliout one impious word, himself he flings. Committed to the darkness and the gloom: 66a Down, down, uncertain to what pleasant doom. Swift as a fathoming plummet down he fell Tlin.ii^.li unknown things; till exhal'd asphodel. Ami \'-,,,-, MJili spicy fan nings interbrealh'd. r.uiic -.WL-Iliiij; forth where little caves were wreath'd 66, ^u iliick wiih lu.ii-es and mosses, that they secm'd I-aiKe lioney-tombs of green, and freshly teem'd . With airs deiidous. In the greenest nook 1 The eagle landed him, and farewell took. it was a jasmine bower, all bestrown 670 With golden moss. His every sense had grown lilliereal for pleasure ; 'bove his head Flew a delight half-graspable ; his tread Wa.s Hesperean ; to his capable ears Silence was music from the holy sphetrs ; *7i A dewy luxury was in his eyes ; The little flowers fell his pleasant sighs And slirr'd them faintly. Verdant cave and cell Wv. wandtr'd through, oft wundering at such swell Book ii.] ENDVAflO/^. Without an echo? Then shall I be left So sad. so melaDcholy, so bereft ! Yet still 1 feel immortal ! O my love. My breath of life, where art thou? High above. Dancing before the morning gates of heaven? Or keeping watch among those starry seven, Old Atlas' children? Art a maid of the waters- One of shell-winding Triton's bright-hair'd daughters Or art, impossible '. a nymph of Dian's, Weaving a coronal of tender scions For very idleness? Where'er thou art, Methinks it now is at my will to slart Into thine arins ; to scare Aurora's train. And snatch thee from the morning; o'er the main To scud like a wild bird, and take thee off From thy sea-foamy cradle ; or to doif Thy shepherd vest, and woo Ihee mid fresh leaves. No, no, too eagerly my soul deceives its powerless self: 1 know this cannot be. 0 let me then by some sweet dreaming flee To her enlrancements : hither sleep awhile ! Hither most gentle sleep! and soothing foil For some few hours the coming solitude." Thus spake he. and that moment felt endu'd With power to dream deliciously ; so wound (684) The draft reads ^*/iAa//fc/f/».. (685! Compare Ihc Sonnet On a Dream — So play'd, lo chann'd, so conquer'd, so bereft... (687-90) Endymion eonjeeturei whether his unknown love is one of the Hours, or one of the nymph Pleione'i daughlets by Ailu, Irajuferred lo heaven at the Pleiades. The draft reads Hu ilivry snra, and At! a itymfk e/ t/U aaltri. The finished manuilripl has Art a maid a lit -aatirt. (691-a) According lo ihe drah. One of iheH-winding Triton's floaiing daughlen? Art Ibou. impoiiibJe 1 a maid o[ Dian's.-. (697) In the draAUie passage originallj stood ihiu: — And snalch thee from among Ihem ; lo attain The starry hights and find thee ere a breath... as if the intention had lieen to refcr again 10 the Ibiufald conjecture '"""H of only i'r/it 'Die draft reads iktm br uud. 1701-3) in the draft, But ah t 100 eageri)' my soul deceivei Its mortaJ self; O unce ihii cannnt be,-. <;o6) The diafi reads Wilk Ify qmitk magic for F-r lomtfiw hean. 136 EMUVMION. Tlirougli a dim passage, searching till he found Tht smoolhtst mossy bed and deepest, where He threw himself, and just into the air Siri'tching his indolent arms, he took, O lillss ! A naked waist ; " Fair Cupid, whence is this? " A well-known voice sigh'd, " Sweetest, here ant I At which soft ravishment, with doting cry Thcv trembled to each other. — Helicon ! O frjiiQUiii'd hill! Old Homer's HeliconI Til. Li iliiHi wuiildst spout a little streamlet o'er 'riii-i- --iirry pages; then the verse would soar Ami .si[ii; above this gentle pair, like lark (Jver his nested young : but all is dark Around thine aged top, and thy clear fount Exhales in mists to heaven. Aye, the count Of mighty Poets is made up ; the scroll Is folded by the Muses ; the bright roll Is in Apollo's hand : our daied eyes Have seen a new tinge in the western skies: The world has done its duly. Yet, oh yet, Although the sun of poesy is set. These lovers did embrace, and we must weep That (here is no old power left to steep Book uJ ENDYMION. ■' O known Unknown ! from whom my being sips, Such darling essence, wherefore may I not Be ever in these arms? in this sweet spot Pillow my chin for ever? ever press These toying hands and kiss iheir smooth excess? Why not for ever and for ever feel That breath a1)out my eyes? Ah, thou wilt steal Away from me again, indeed, indeed — Thou ivili be gone away, and wilt not heed My lonely madness. Speak, delicious fair! Is — is it to be so? No! Who will dare To pluck thee from me? And, of thine own will. Full well 1 feel thou wouldst not leave me. Still Lei me entwine thee surer, surer — now Hon- can we part? Elysium ! who art thou? Who, thai thou canst not be for ever here. Or lift me with thee to some starry sphere? Enchantress ! tell me by this soft embrace. By ihe most soft completion of thy face. Those lips, O slippery blisses, twinkling eyes. And by these tenderest, milky sovereignties — These tenderest, and by the nectaj-wine. The passion " " O dov'd Ida the divine ! (?39) Compare, for mere juilaposilion of words, Romeo and (743) The draft reads /iW^mrf tor «/™j|-. (747-SI Woodhause notes, apparenlly Irom Ihe draft, (he variation. And there musi be a time when thoul't not heed My lonely madness — O delicious ] ?^ [ ■ The finished mannseripl and Ihe firsi edilion boih read my iiHdrsI fain Tcrsion of the text is from (he corrected copy. (74^J In Ihe drafi. Wkatviill dart, and in the neit line bul one I iao\ (756-7) The draft {fives Ihis couplet thus Enchantress I lell me by this mad embrace, By (he moist languor ollhy breathing bee... (760-1) Tbe draft has (his couplet as follows — These tenderest — and by the breath — the love The passion — nectar — Heaven 1 " " Jove above t The second of Ibese lines originally stood in the finished manuscript Ihus The Passion " O Ida the divine I as iifauion were meant (o scan as a trisyllable, as in many other cases n KidfmmH. — amirosial ioT \i ■ .. - i ■38 K..Jym ENDYMION. T [ dearest ! Ah, unhappy me I Mir- soul will scape us — O felicity! lluw he does love me! His poor temples beat To the vers tune of love — how sweet, sweet, sweet. KLiiii-. rlr.ar youth, or 1 shall fiint and die; !■:. .1. ■■:,■.■ -I I'l hours will hurry by li. ■■ . ■ ■■ .1 ■ ■■ : sjM-ak, and let that spell I- li' !■ '. ;■!■ v,.i[,', ,uiil will press at least My li|i.'i to iliini', that they may richly feast i.'niil wi; taste the life of love again. Wh.il! iloil ihoii move? dost kiss? O bliss! O pain! I IfH-e ihee, youth, more than I can coneeiw; And so long alj.senee from thee dolh bereave My soul of any rest : yet must I hence : Vi-t. can I not Id stany eminence Uplift thee ; nor for very shame can own Myself to thee ; Ah, dearest, do not groan Or thou wilt force itic from this secrecy. And I must blush in heaven. O that 1 11, id done 't already; that the dreadful smiles At my loal brightness, my impatsion'd wiles. Mad waned from Olympus' solemn height, And from all serious Cods ; that our delight Book u.] ENDYMION. la m-erence vailed — my crystalline dominion Half lost, and all old hymns made nullity ! But what is this to love 7 O I could fly With thee into the ken of heavenly powers, So ihou woutdst thus, for many sequent hours. Press me so sweetly. Now 1 swear at once That I am wise, that Pallas is a dunce — Perhaps her love like mine is but unknown — 0 1 du think (hat I have been alone In chastily: yes, Pallas has been sighing. While every eve saw me my hair uptying With fingers cool as aspen leaves. Sweet love, 1 was as vague as solitary dove. Nor knew that nests were built. Now a soft kiss — Ave. by that kiss. 1 vow an endless bliss. An immortality of passion's thine : Ere long 1 will exalt thee to the shine Of heaven ambrosial ; and we will shade Ourselves whole summers by a river glade; And I will tell thee stories of the sky, And breathe thee whispers of its minstrelsy. My happy love will overwing all bounds ! O let me melt into Ihee; let the sounds (793) In the first edition |and as far as I know all olhen) vtiUd, b Ibc manuscripl, which is obviously righi. (796) The draft readj starry for hticottily. (■□o) In the draR. Does Pallas self DOI love? the must — she miull (807) Cancelled reading o{ the manuscript, juror lot vaui. (B13-14) '■'he draft has these two lines thus — And breathe thee empjrrean minslrelsy. (815-99) This passage vEuics considerably in detail from what wa Vrilten in the draft : — let the sounds Of balh our voices marry al tbeir birth ; Let us entwine ineitricablv — O desTlh of mortal words! I'll teach thee other speech; Lispines Immortal will I sometime teach Thine honied toi^ue — Gold-brea)bings. which 1 gasp To have thee uoderUand, now while I clasp Thee Ihul, and shed these j j" " ( — I am pain'd, Eodymion. There is a giief contain'd In the very shrine of pleasure, O my life I " Hereat with dialing £obs her ({cnile strife Died into paulve languor — tw retum'd ENDYMiON. Of our close voices marry at their birth ; l.t'i us ciitiviue hoveringly — O dearth Of hum.iu wurcis! roughness of mortal speech! Listings cnLiJjrL'an wiil 1 sometiine teach Tliinc honied tongue — lute-bre.it hi ngs, which I gasp To linve tliee understand, now while I clasp Thee thus, and weep for fondness — I am pain'd, Endyitiion: woe! woe! is grief contained In the very deeps of pleasure, my sole life? " — Hereat, with many sobs, her gentle strife Melted into a languor. He retum'd Entranced vows and tears. Ye who have yeam'd Wilh [00 much passion, will here stay and pity. For the mere sake of truth ; as 'tis a ditty Not of these days, but long ago 'twas told By a cavern wind unto a forest old ; And then the forest told it in a dream To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam A poet caught a.s he was journeying To Phicbus' shrine ; and in it he did fling weary limbs, bathing an hour's space, And after, straight in that inspired plac Book ii.] ENDYMION, I4I Should be engulphed in the eddying wind. As much as here is pcnn'd doth always find A resting place, thus much comes clear and plain ; Anon the strange voice is upon the wane — And His but echo'd from departing sound, 850 That the fair visitant at last unwound Her gentle limbs, and left the youth asleep. — Thus the tradition of the gusty deep. Now turn we to our former chroniclers. — Endymion awoke, that grief of hers 855 (849-50) The draft reads — But after the strange voice is on the wane — And 't is but guess'd from the departing sound, and in the next line but one prison' d for gentle. The two lines as written in the draft make it more absolutely clear than the two lines as printed that the departure of Diana is divined from the faintly soundinp; close of the story to which the poet gave voice. The birth of this tale out-docs m imaginative delicacy the account of the "sleepy music" in this Book (lines 358 to 363), though that' exceeds this in compactness. Keats probably felt that there was quite enough about the poet's voice, for unless I am much deceived he rejected a most lovely and elaborate series of comparisons for that voice, — only inferior, if indeed they are inferior, to the "tradition of the gusty deep " which they would have followed immediately — thus : Oh I what a voice is silent. It was soft As mountain-echoes, when the winds aloft (The gentle winds of summer) meet in caves ; Or when in sheltered places the white waves Are 'waken'd into music, as the breeze Dimples and stems the current : or as trees Shaking their green locks in the days of June : Or Delphic girls when to the maiden moon They sang harmonious pray*rs : or sounds that come (However near) like a faint distant hum Out of the grass, from which mysterious birth We ^ess the busy secrets ol the earth. — Like the low voice of Syrinx, when she ran Into the forests from Arcadian Pan : Or sad CEnonc's, when she pined away For Paris, or (and yet 'twas not so gay) As Helen's whisper when she came to Troy, Half sham'd to wander with that blooming; boy. Like air-touch'd harps in flowery casements hung; Like unto lovers* ears the wild words sung In garden bowers at twilight : like the sound Of Zephyr when he takes his nightly round In May, to see/the roses all asleep : Or like the dim strain which along the deep The sea-maid utters to the sailors ear, Telling of tempests, or of dangers near. Like Desdemona, who (when fear was strong Upon her soul) chaunted the willow song. 142 El^DYMlON. Swcol painin;:; on his ear: he sickly guess'd ikiw lono liL- wzis once more, and sadlj' press'd His L-mply Lirnis logelher, hung his head, And most forlorn upon [hat widow'd bed l):il sik'nliv- Love's madness he had known; (.ifun »ilh more than tortured lion's groan .Miianings iiad hurst from him; but now that rage Had ])ass'd away ; no longer did he wage A rough-voic'd war against the dooming stars.' Nil. he had fell too much for such harsh jars : The l)'rc of his soul i£olian tun'd Forgot all violence, and but commun'd With mcliincholv thought: O he had swoon'd Iininki.li hum pleasure's nipple; and his love [ li :h :ii!Lh iv.is dove-lil;e. — Loth was he to mowe Fi'-'ii lii.j impnnted couch, and when he did, r\\.i-, with ~,Iu\v, languid paces, and face hid In Tiuilriing h.^nds. So temper'd, out he stra/d bt^bn >r the I Spoki-'n by friends departei A gi-TVLleEirl btealhcs wh« The iove het eyes betray It Book ii.] ENDYMION, 1 43 Half seeing visions that might have dismay 'd Alecto's serpents ; ravishments more keen 875 Than Hermes' pipe, when anxious he did lean Over eclipsing eyes : and at the last It was a sounding grotto, vaulted, vast, O^er studded with a thousand, thousand pearls. And crimson mouthed shells with stubborn curls, 880 Of. every shape and size, even to the bulk In which whales harbour close, to brood and sulk Against an endless storm. Moreover too. Fish-semblances, of green and azure hue. Ready to snort their streams. In this cool wonder 885 Endymion sat down, and 'gan to ponder On all his life : his youth, up to the day When ^mid acclaim, and feasts, and garlands gay. He stept upon his shepherd throne : the look Of his white palace in wild forest nook, 890 And all the revels he had lorded there : Each tender maiden whom he once thought feir. With every friend and fellow-woodlander — Passed like a dream before him. Then the spur Of the old bards to mighty deeds : his plans 895 To nurse the golden age ^mong shepherd clans : That wondrous night : the great Pan-festival : His sister^s sorrow ; and his wanderings all. Until into the earth's deep maw he rushM : Then all its buried magic, till it flushed 900 (876) The words tfu)se ofzx^ cancelled in the finished manuscript before Hermes {not //ermes') . The story of Argus seems to have impressed Keats vividly : see his sonnet, "As Hermes once took to his feathers light." Probably this vivid im- pression was derived from Gary's Dante {Purgatory, Canto xxxil), which he cer- tainly read attentively, and on the fiy-leaf of which, by the bye, he wrote that very sonnet He may also have known the story in Ovid's Metamorphoses (Book I). (878) The draft reads He found for // was, (879) And is here cancelled in fevour of (Xer in the finished manuscript (880) In the draft— And shells outswelling their faint tinged curls. (881) Cancelled reading of the manuscript, hue for shape. (882) In the finished manuscript and in the first edition arbour; but although this might have a very far-fetched sense, I do not think it would be justifiable to restore the reading. (884) The dralt reads ^^^ and golden hue. (895) The draf^ reads minstrelsy mstead of the old bards. (897) Cancelled readings from the draft — That wondrous night that wean'd him... That wondrous night : great Pan's high festival, (899) The draft reads dim for deep. High with ex c^sivc love. "And now," thought he. '■ How long riLisl 1 remain in jeopardy Of blank am cements that amaM no more? Now 1 have t Lsted her sweet soul to the core All oihi.-i- ilejilhs arc shallow: ( ' >n':i: =|>iritii il, an' like muddy lees. Ml. lilt iii]( Il fiiiiiize my earthly root, Ami iii.ik'j nil I ir, inches lift a golden fruit iiuo thi; ijluiiiii uf heaven: other light, Though il bo quick and sharp enough to blight The Olympian, eagle's vision, is dark, Dark as the parentage of chaos. Hark ! My silent thoughts are echoing from these shelb ; Or they are but the ghosts, the dying swells Of noises far away ? — list ! " — Hereupon He kept an anxious ear. The humming tone Came louder, and behold, there as he lay, On either side outgush'd, with misly spray, A copious spring ; and both together dash'd Swift, mad, fantastic round the rocks, and lash'd Among the conchs and shells of the lofty grot, Le.iving n trickling dew. At last they shot Down from the ceiling's height, pouring a noise lireathless raceri whnse IxMie Book ii.] ENDVM/O/sr. 1 45 Such tenderness as mine ? Great Dian, why. Why didst thou hear her prayer? O that I Were rippling round her dainty fairness now. Circling about her waist, and striving how 94a To entice her to a dive ! then stealing in Between her luscious lips and eyelids thin. 0 that her shining hair was in the sun, And I distilling from it thence to run In amorous rillets down her shrinking form ! 945 To linger on her lilly shoulders, warm Between her kissing breasts, and every charm Touch raptur'd ! — See how painfully I flow : Fair maid, be pitiful to my great woe. Stay, stay thy weary course, and let me lead, 950 A happy wooer, to the flowery mead Where all that beauty snar'd me." — ** Cruel god. Desist ! or my off*ended mistress' nod Will stagnate all thy fountains : — teaze me not With s>Ten words — Ah, have I really got 955 Such power to madden thee? And is it true — Away, away, or I shall dearly rue My very thoughts : in mercy then away. Kindest Alpheus, for should I obey My own dear will, Hwould be a deadly bane. 960 O, Oread-Queen ! would that thou hadst a pain Like this of mine, then would I fearless turn And be a criminal. Alas, I bum, 1 shudder — gentle river, get thee hence. Alpheus ! thou enchanter ! every sense 965 (945) The draft reads — Amorous and slow adown her shrinking form ! (947-9) These three lines stood thus in the draft — About her j ^^dir^ [ *^'***^' ^^^ every charm Kiss, raptur'd. even to her milky toes. O foolish maid be gentle to my woes. (953) The draft reads slew for snar'd, (954) Cancelled reading ol the manuscript, waters for fountains, (960) In the first edition Arethusa's speech is closed at the end of this line, and taken up again at Alas^ I burn, in line 363, the intermediate p>ortion being separated from it by independent marks of quotation, as if spoken by Alpheus ; but in the manuscript the one speech extends from Cruel God (952) to cruel thing (975) ; and this obviously correct arrangement is restored in the copy revised by Keats. (964) The draft reads — I shudder — for sweet mercy get thee hence. END VM ION. dl d dl ih woods. \ t floods, 1 m tgave; pa ggl w h f rv me so, Ma, t cru Itj I I 1 « m h pp > Qg A J A It — Now 1 d t taunt ] t I h nlc ^ mj I d) b k I gi I oi nt maidl b f d 1 Th fitfid sighs I D self f 1 I p. g D I d 1 t 11 I 1 f ll op k} I ght h "Ul my d g mj h Id Book il] ENDYMION, 1 47 Than Saturn in his exile ; where I brim Round flowery islands, and take thence a skim 995 Of mealy sweets, which myriads of bees Buzz from their honey'd wings : and thou shouldst please Thyself to choose the richest, where we might Be incense-pillow'd every summer night. Doff all sad fears, thou white deliciousncss, 1000 And let us be thus comforted ; unless Thou couldst rejoice to see my hopeless stream Hurry distracted from Sol's temperate beam. And pour to death along some hungry sands." — •* What can I do, Alpheus? Dian stands 1005 Severe before me : persecuting fate ! Unhappy Arethusa ! thou wast late A huntress free in " — At this, sudden fell Those two sad streams adown a fearful deli. The Latmian listened, but he heard no more, loio Save echo, feint repeating o'er and o'er The name of Arethusa. On the verge Of that dark gulph he wept, and said : ** I urge Thee, gentle Goddess of my pilgrimage. By our eternal hopes, to soothe, to assuage, 1015 If thou art powerftil, these lovers' pains ; And make them happy in some happy plains." He tum'd — there was a whelming sound — he stept, There was a cooler light ; and so he kept Towards it by a sandy path, and lo ! 1020 More suddenly than doth a moment go. The visions of the earth were gone and fled — He saw the giant sea above his head. (996) The draft reads powdery for mealy, (997) Cancelled reading of the manuscript. Shake for Buzz. J 998) In the draft, choose the freshest. 1004) The draft reads along hot A/ric's sands, t^nd in the next line but one cruel, el fate/ (1016) Lovers in the manuscript and in the first edition, without the apostrophe ; and the speech is not closed with a mark of quotation in cither. (1017) The drsdt reauds their native plains. (1020) Cancelled reading of the finished manuscript, scanty for sandy. END YM ION. THICRE are who lord it o"er their fellow-men With most prevailing tinsel : who unpen 'rlu'ii' baaing vanities, to browse away The comfortable green and juicy hay From human jjastures ; or, O torturing feet ! Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd Kire-br.inded lijM^a to sear vi]) and singe Our yold and ripp-ear'd hopes. Willi not one tinge Of s^ncluarj' splendour, not a sight ■ lile to face an owl's, they still are dight y the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests, ns. and turbans. With unladen breasts. Book hi.] ENDYMION. 1 49 Or by ethereal things that, unconfin'd, 2 J Can make a ladder of the eternal wind. And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents To watch the abysm-birth of elements. Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd Fate A thousand Powers keep religious state, 30 In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne ; And, silent as a consecrated urn, Hold spherey sessions for a season due. Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few ! Have bar'd their operations to this globe — 35 Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe Our piece of heaven — whose benevolence Shakes hand with our own Ceres ; every sense Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude, As bees gorge full their cells. And^ by the feud 40 'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear, Eterne Apollo ! that thy Sister fair Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest. When thy gold breath is misting in the west, She unobserved steals unto her throne, 45 And there she sits most meek and most alone ; As if she had not pomp subservient ; As if thine eye, high Poet ! was not bent Towards her with the Muses in thine heart ; As if the ministring stars kept not apart, 50 (31-2) The draft yields the rejected couplet — In the several vastnesses of air and fire ; And silent, as a corpse upon a pyre. (34) The draft reads How few of these far majesties, how few I (38-9) These two lines stood thus in the draft — Salutes our native Ceres — | *" ^erT^ I ®^"*® With spiritual honey fills to plenitude... (41) At the end of this line Keats wrote in the original draft, as if to localize the oath he was recording, '* Oxford, Septr. 5." (42) The word eterne seems to be another reminiscence of Spenser : sec Faerie Queerte, Book III, Canto vi, ^tanza 47 : Yet is eteme in mutabilitie,... (44) The draft reads— When thy gold hair falls thick about the west. (49) The draft has C/pon in place of Towards. (50) This attribution of an active life of ministration to the stars is a recurrence of the idea in Book II, lines 184-5 — by all the stars That tend thy bidding... endymion: W.iiiiriL' fur cilivr-fnnled messages. (iM..i' ■■'!■ --t sh^ides 'mong oldest trees I ■■ Jii.n ihou lookest in: II 1 ■ .1 ■ . . ;.i-. lisp forth a holier din [ ■ !■ ■ iliine airy fellowship. 1 ■■ I ly where, with silver lip !<■ -. .. L ■ '-■.::.- \o life. The sleeping kine, I I ■ :;■ I . .liUiess. dream of fields divine; A ■ ■ ■ I !i illowing of ihine eyes ; \i ■ ■ i.iinn passcth not I i.i. .,-|i.ice, one hule spot \\";,,j, |J,..,,:[L. i.L.u Ijt-sent: ihe nested wren Ha> tliv i.iir [.iLi: within its tranquil ken, And from lieiic-ath a sheltering ivy leaf Takus glimpsL'.s of thee; thou arl a relief To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps Within its pearly house. — The mighty deeps. The monstrous sea is Ihine — Ihe myriad sea ! (!) Moon ! far-spooming Ocean liows to thee, jVncl Tellus feels his forehead's cumbrous load. Book m.] ENDYMION. Cynthia ! where art thou now? What far abode Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine Such utmost t>eauly? Alas, thou dost pine For one as sorrowful : thy che(;k is \a\ In- kept, until the rosy veils M.iiiiliiiL: iliL- east, by Aurora's peering hand Witl- lifii-d from the water's breast, and fano'd liilo 'iwiet air : and sober'd morning came .\!i.tkly ihr.niKh l.illows : — when lilie laper-llame l,efi sii(ldi*n Ijy a d.illying breath of air, llf nise in sik'iicc. and once more "gan fare Alun" his fated way. P'ar had he ri m'd. Book III.] ENDYMION. I S3 He might have dPd ; but now, with' cheered feel. He onward kept ; wooiog these thoughts lo steal 14a About the labyriolh in his soul of love. ' ■ What is there in thee, Moon \ that thou should.'it move My heart so potently? When yet a child I oft have dry'd my tears when thou hast smil'd. Thou seem'dsl my sister; hand in hand we went 145 From eve to morn across the firmament. No apples would I gather from the tree, Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously: No tumbling water ever spake romance. But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance: 1 50 No woods were green enough, no bower divine. Until thou lifledst up thine eyelids fine : In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take. Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake ; And, in the summer tide of blossoming, 155 No one but thee hath heard me blythly sing And mesh my dewy flowers all the night. No melody was like a passing spright If it went not to solemnize thy reign. Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain 160 By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end ; And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend With all my ardours : thou wast the deep glen \ Thou wast the mountain-top — the sage's pen — The poet's harp — the voice of friends — the sn 165 Thou wast the river — thou wast glory won : Thou wast my clarion's blast — thou wa.st my steed — My goblet fuU of wine — my topmost deed : — Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon ! O what a wild and harmonized tune 170 (140) Cancelled reading oftheTnaiiuiCTipt,nwif/for:tLiiiLiU ■.j-.iuii. — Dearest love, forgive That 1 i:dn ihink away from thee and live ! — Pnrdim me, airv planet, thai I prize One thought beyond thine argent luxuries ! How far beyond ! " At this a surpris'd atari I'rosled tlie springing verdure of his heart; For as lie lifted up his ej'es to swe.ir How his own jjoddess was past all things fair. the concave green of ihe sea An old iiian sitting calm and peacefully. L-edcd rock this old man sat. BOOK m.] ENDYMION. 155 Quicksand, and whirlpool, and deserted shore, SVi-re emblem'd id Ihe woof; wilh every shape Th il skiins, or dives, or sleeps, 'twixl cape and cape. Til • giilphing whale was Uku a dot in the spell, 30$ ¥ :i MuK upon it, and 'twould .size and swell To its huge self; and the minutest fish Wo.dd pass the very hardest gazer's wish, . And show his little eye's anatomy. Th;n thtre was pictur'd the regality 210 Of N'jpiune ; and the sea nymphs round his state, In bcMUteous vassalage, look up and wait. Be-idj this old man lay a pearly wand. And in his lap a book, the which he conn'd So stedfastly. that the new denizen 315 Had time 10 keep him in amazed ken. To mark these shadowings, and stand in awe. The old man rais'd his hoary head and saw The wilder'd stranger — seeming not to see, His features were so lifeless. Suddenly 32a He woke as from a trance; his snow-while brows Went arching up, and like two magic ploughs Furrow'd deep wrinkles in his forehead large. Which kept as fixedly as rocky marge. Till round his wither'd lips had gone a smile. 225 Then up he rose, like one whose tedious toil Had waich'd for years in forlorn hermitage. Who had not from mid-life to utmost age Eis'd in one accent his o'er-burden'd soul. Even to the trees. He rose : he grasp'd his stole, 230 With convuls'd clenches waving it abroad. Moans, shrieks, and curses, and blaspheming pta)^ts Accoiied U5. We climbed Ihc ooiy stairs... Thelhird oflhese iineswas theonelosiandrecovered. N'o doubl in the present iuu^iM without the rhyme. The only difterence is that Ki-als was Ins own copyist iinbe press and saw his poem in print, wliile Shellry's only appeared when the [»" was '■ beyond the slais." Olhcrwise, the one case perfectly illusitates the (acfi) In the draft — Vel look npon it long, 'twould grow and swell... (U6) The draft reads stitdious for lidious. ,1^) In (he finished manuscript, ^i>i,'i :liil iiltfrly of self-intent ; \\-\ in:,' hilt wiih the mighty ebb and flow. 1 lull, liki- a new fledg'd bird that first doth show Hi. -.iiuMflc'l feathers to the morrow chill, 1 \\\'i\ ill fi.ar the pinions of my will. 'Tw.i- frt.'i.'iiLiiii I and at once I lisited The CL-nsclcss wonders of this ocean-bed. No need to tell thee of them, for i see That thou hast been a witness — it mlxst be — For these I know thou canst not feel a drouth. By the melancholy corners of that mouth. So 1 will in my story straightway pass lore immediate matter. Woe, alas ! Book hi.] ENDYWOl^. Until 'twas too fierce agony to bear; And in that agony, across my grief II flashed, Ihat Circe mighl find some relief — Cruel enchantress ! So above the water 1 rear'd my head, and look'd for Phiebus' daughter. Xjx^'f, isle was wondering at the moon : — It seem'd to whirl around me, and a swoon Left me dead-drifting to that fatal power. '• When I awoke, 'twas in a twilight bower; just when the light of morn, with hum of bees. Stole through its verdurous mailing of fresh trees. How sweet, and sweeter ! for I heard a lyre. And over it a sighing voice expire. It ceas'd — I caught light footsteps ; and anon The fairest face that mom e'er look'd upon Push'd through a screen of roses. Starry Jove ! iVith tears, and smiles, and honey-words she wove A net whose thraldom was more bliss than all The range of tlower'a Elysium. Thus did fall The dew of her rich speech ; "Ah! Art awake? " O let me hear thee speak, for Cupid's sake ! ■' I am so oppress'd with joy ! Why, I have shed " An urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead ; ■■ And now I find thee living, I will pour " From these devoted eyes their silver store, ■' Until exhausted of the latest drop, ■' So it will pleasure thee, and force thee slop " Here, that I too may live : but if beyond "Such cool and sorrowful offerings, thou art fond " Of soothing warmth, of dalliance supreme ; "If thou art ripe to taste a long love dream; (41a) \n\\iKi-r^t., might afford relit/, (415) The draft reads looking for miKdtriHg. (417) Cancelled teadinfc of the maDUSCii|J1, towards Tor to, (419) The draft reads What tinu foi yuiltahea. (4ai-a) Cancelled reading of the manuscripl — How sweef to me I and then I heard a Lyre Wilh which a sighing voice. (415) The draft reads Mighty for Starry. l4«) The inTerted commas before each line ipcech within another, are in (he manuscript, b oirefull)' inserted in the corrected copy in my possession. (432I The draft reads as if for ai lAough. (436) In the draft, BwiiU in place of uii/j; Il62 ENDYMION. ■■ If smiles, if dimples, tongues for ardour mute. " ILiiil; in tliy vision like a tempting fruit. ■■ < 1 111 III.- |iliiL;k it for thee." Thus she link'd i|. 1 I li.LNiiiii^ sjUables, till irdisUoct Til -I- lui;-]^ cuine to my o"er-sweelen"d soul; Aiul ilnrEi hhi; hover'd over me, and stole Sii near, that if no nearer il had been This furrow'd visage thou hadst never seen. " Young man of Lalmus ! thus particular Am I. that Ihou may'st plainly see liow &r This fiercL' temptation went: and thou may'st not Exclaim. How then, was Scylla quite forgot? '■Who could resist? Who it She did so breathe ambixisia:; si My lini^ existence in a golden clime. ShL- iiiok me like a child of suckling time. Anil cradk'il iiil' in roses. Thus condemo'd, The ciirrcnl nf mv former life was stemm'd, And l(j this :irbitrary queen of sense I'd a tranced vassal ; nor would thence tnov'd, tren though Amphion's harp had n Ml' back to Scylla o'er the billows nide. Book hi.] END YM ION. 1 63 Warbling for Very joy mellifluous sorrow — To me new bom delights ! ** Now let me borrow, For moments few, a temperament as stem As Pluto's sceptre, that my words not bum These uttering lips, while I in calm speech tell 475 How specious heaven was changed to real hell. ** One mom she left me sleeping: half awake I sought for her smooth arms and lips, to slake My greedy thirst with nectarous camel-draughts ; But she was gone. Whereat the barbed shafts 480 Of disappointment stuck in me so sore. That out I ran and searched the forest o'er. Wandering about in pine and cedar gloom Damp awe assaiPd me ; for there 'gan to boom A sound of moan, an agony of sound, 485 Sepulchral from the distance all around. Then came a conquering earth-thunder, and rumbled That fierce complain to silence : while I stumbled Down a precipitous path, as if impelled. I came to a dark valley. — Groanings swelPd '490 Poisonous about my ears, and louder grew. The nearer I approachM a flame's gaunt blue. That glar'd before me through a thorny brake. This fire, like the eye of gordian snake, X3ewitch'd me towards ; and I soon was near 495 -A sight too fearful for the feel of fear : In thicket hid I curs'd the haggard scene — The banquet of my arms, my arbour queen. Seated upon an uptom forest root ; And all around her shapes, wizard and bmte, 500 Laughing, and wailing, groveling, serpenting, Showing tooth, tusk, and venom-bag, and sting ! 0 such deformities ! Old Charon's self. Should he give up awhile his penny pelf. (477) Cancelled readii^ of the manuscript, day for morn, (483) The contraction Wand^ing occurs here in the finished manuscript. (495) In the draft. Drew me towards iV, showing that towards ^zs used as a dissyllable; so that I rear «/ was advisedly cancelled m revising the line. (498) Woodhouse notes, presumably from the draft, the variation — My beautiful rose bud, my arbour Queen, aod in the sort line but one akout for around. endymion: h h h y n St giu F wi h h k 1 gh dou d qiuck n ) n gT lick I V \ h f m tl t I ] bl ck diJl gu g1 g phial : I d 11 as f som p g trial I g ' h P i^i>' ti 1 1 I h m ppea! g gr ns I J b ast t g t her ear I as r t b I k I 1 t Ih y tl t} oil. 1 a d a noise of painful toil, dull o 1 tempest rage, I II and groans of tortu re- pilgrimage j II n cd bodies 'gan to bloat I u T ir tl t! e ta I s end to stilled throat : 1 va a| pall ng t^ lence : then a sight Idenng tl an all that hoarse affright ; Book in.] ENDYMION. 165 «« Or let me from this heavy prison fly: •• Or give me to the air, or let me die ! •* I sue not for my happy crown again ; ** I sue not for my phalanx on the plain ; «• I sue not for my lone, my widow'd wife ; 545 •* I sue not for my ruddy drops of life, •* My children fair, my lovely girls and boys! I will forget them ; I will pass these joys ; Ask nought so heavenward, so too — too high : •• Only I pray, as fairest boon, to die, 550 ** Or be delivered from this cumbrous flesh, •* From this gross, detestable, filthy mesh, •* And merely given to the cold bleak air. •* Have mercy, Goddess! Circe, feel my prayer!" *' That curst magician's name fell icy numb 555 Upon my wild conjecturing : truth had come Naked and sabre-like against my heart. I saw a fury whetting a death-dart ; And my slain spirit, overwrought with fright. Fainted away in that dark lair of night. 560 Think, my deliverer, how desolate My waking must have been ! disgust, and hate. And terrors manifold divided me A spoil amongst them. I prepared to flee Into the dungeon core of that wild wood : 565 1 fled three days — when lo ! before me stood Glaring the angry witch. O Dis, even now, A clammy dew is bending on my brow. At mere remembering her pale laugh, and curse. •* Ha! ha! Sir Dainty! there must be a nurse 570 (545-8) The draft reads as follows — 1 sue not for my lonely, my dear wife, I sue not for my hearts blood drops of life, My sweetest babes, my lovely girls and boys, Ah, likely they are dead — I pass these joys... (554) At this point the draft reads thus — Have mercy goddess ! feel oh feel my prayer. Pity great Circe ! '* — nor sight nor syllable Saw I or heard I more of this sick spell. (560) In the draft, dull realm for dark lair. (567) In the finished manuscript we read e'en for ei'en, (569) In the manuscript, remembring. (570 \ This line begins with Ah, Ah, in the finished manuscript, and Woodhouse Dotes, in apparent allusion to the draft, " formerly O/ O / " The inverted commas EmSYMION. of lO'ic loaves and thistledown, express, itlli; tlK-i; my sweet, and lull thee: yes. on riiiiiy-lmrd lor thy nice touch: iiivrii-,! S(|ui;eie is but a giant's dutch. irv-tlihiij, il shall have lullabies irtl ijf VL't ; and it shall still its cries 0 — il >liall Dot pine, and pine, a.nd pine llisn uni.- prclty, trifling thousand years; liLH "iwere pity, but fate's gentle shears lort its immiirtaiily. Sea- flirt ! ; iliivt- i-il llie waters! truly I'll not hurt e how \ weep and sigh. Vvt I mi kai ■broken parting i; nigh. tiiec mv last adiei .\n,l s"-ass... li6S ENDYMION. I left poor Scylla in a niche and fled. My luver'd parchings up, my scathing dread Mil pal.sy halfw.iy: soon these limbs became (iaunt, wither'd. sapless, feeble, cramp'd, and lame. ■' Now let me pass a cruet, cmel space, Wilhoul one hope, without one faintest trace lif niiiigiiiion. or redeeming Liubble iif colour'd phantasy; for 1 fear 'twould trouble Thy lirain to loss of reason i and next tell Hiiiv a restoring chance came down to quell One half of the witch in me. Sitting upon a rock above the spray, I sau' grow up from the horizon's brink a she s. s though her c .1! !>i , II ii.si.im'U in spite of hindering force — i,Lni-.liM ■ and not long, before arose tk douils, uud muttering of winds morose. .1 .-Eolus would stifle his mad spleen, ; therefore all tlie billows green Book hi.] ENDYMION. 1 69 Grasping this scroll, and this same slender wand. 670 I knelt with pain — reached out my hand — had grasped These treasures — touch'd the knuckles — they unclasped — I caught a finger : but the downward weight O'erpowered me — it sank. Then 'gan abate The storm, and through chill aguish gloom outburst 675 The comfortable sun. I was athirst To search the book, and in the warming air Parted its dripping leaves with eager care. Strange matters did it treat of, and drew on My soul page after page, till well-nigh won 680 Into forgetful ness ; when stupefied, I read these words, and read again, and tried My eyes against the heavens, and read again. 0 what a load of misery and pain Each Atlas-line bore off! — a shine of hope 685 Came gold around me, cheering me to cope Strenuous with hellish tyranny. Attend ! For thou hast brought their promise to an end. «• In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch^ Doomed with enfeebled carcase to outstretch 690 His loath'' d existence through ten centuries, ^nd then to die cdone. Who can devise ^ toted opposition f No one. So One million times ocean must ebb and flow, >lnd he oppressed. Vet he shall not die, 695 jThese things accomplished: — If he utterly -Scans all the depths of magic, and expounds jThe meanings of all motions, shapes, and sounds; J^ he explores all for 9ns and substances Strai^ homeward to their symbol-essences ; 700 He shall not die. Moreover, and in chief. He must pursue this task of joy and grief Most piously; — all lovers tempest-tost. And in the savage overwhelming lost, (678) The draft reads Unfol) The words ii it are conlracled Iiere 10 tit in the manuscript. (7*7) There b nothing in the finished manuscript to indicate how this line came [°K«iii[ellow. ilit everhadone: and Woodhouse notes nothing (rum the draft »>nngon that point. There is perhaps a reminiscence here of William Cham- '■"bjiw, in whose Mornnria^ (Book HE, Canto iii, page 51 of the second volume of the lEjo edition} we have — The glad birds had sung A lullaby lo nigbt,-. ENDYMION. MTiie^i: minced leaves on me, and passing through I Those lik's of di-ad. scatler ihe same around, I And lliou will see the issue." — 'Mid the sound f Of llulL-s and viols, ravishing his heart, Endjmion from Glaucus stood apart, ' id .scalter'd in his face some fragments light. ow liyhlning-swift the change '. a youthful wighl Smiling beneath a coral diadem, Out-sparkling sudden like an upturn'd gem, Appear'd, and, stepping to a beauteous corse, Kneel'd down beside it, and with lendereat force Prtss'd its cold hand, and wept, — and Scylla sigh'd! Endymion, with quick hand, the charm apply'd — The nymph arose : he left them to their joy. And onward went upon his high employ. Showering those powerful fragments on Ihe dead. And, as he pass'd. each lifted up its head, A^ doth a flower at Apollo's touch. Death fell It to his inwards : 'twas too much : Death fell a weeping in his charnel-house. The Latmian persever'd along, aJid thus All were te-animated. There arose A noise of harmony, pulses and throes : in the air — while many, who It and true. Book hi.] ENDYMJON. 1 73 The fair assembly wander'd to and fro, Distracted with the richest overflow 805 Of joy that ever pour'd from heaven. •'Away!" Shouted the new bom god ; ** Follow, and pay Our piety to Neptunus supreme ! " — Then Scylla, blushing sweetly from her dream. They led on first, bent to her meek surprise, 810 Through p>ortal columns of a giant size. Into the vaulted, boundless emerald. Joyous all followM, as the leader calPd, Down marble steps ; pouring as easily As hour-glass sand, — and fast, as you might see 815 Swallows obeying the south summer^s call. Or swans upon a gentle waterfall. Thus went that beautiful multitude, nor far, Ere from among some rocks of glittering spar. Just within ken, they saw descending thick 820 Another multitude. Whereat more quick Mov'd either host. On a wide sand they met. And of those numbers every eye was wet ; For each their old love found. A murmuring rose, Like what was never heard in all the throes 825 Of wind and waters : His past human wit To tell ; 'tis dizziness to think of it. This mighty consummation made, the host Mov'd on for many a league ; and gain'd, and lost Huge sea-marks ; van ward swelling in array, 830 And from the rear diminishing away, — Till a faint dawn surprised them. Glaucus cry'd, (811) Though stands for Through both in the finished manuscript and in the first edition. (832-40) In the draft this passage reads thus : Till a faint dawning bloom'd — and Glaucus cried, " Bi^hold ! behold, the palace of his pride I Of God Neptunus pride." With hum increased The host moved on towards that brightening east. And as it moved along proud domes arose In prospect, — diamond gleams, and golden glows Of amber leveling against their faces. With expectation high, and hurried paces Still onward ; &c. lie word hum instead oi noise in line 834 was repeated in the finished manuscript, which reads otherwbe like the printed text. '74 ENDYMION. ■> Bcliokl 1 bclmld, ilie palace of liia pride! God Nt])luiiu''s p;ilaces ! " Willi noise increas'd. Tliey .shoukkT'd on towards that brigliteuing east. At cvLTv ouivard step proud domes arose III pruspccl, — diamond gleams, and golden glows Of ambi;r 'gainst their feces lei"elling. Joyous, and many as tlie leivcs in spring, .Still onvi'a.rd ; still the splendour gradual swell'd. Kii:h opal domes were seen, on high upheld lij- j.ispiir pillars, letting through their shafts A Ijlii^h ofcor.il. Copioiis wondtr-draughts liach g^i/cr drank ; .ind deeper drank more near: I'lir uli.Ll |uiur iiiorials fragment up, as mere A- 11 .' 1. ■■. I- iluu- lavish, to the vast III' ' !■ . ili.it far far surpassed, I ■ ■■ '.ilk. those olden three. M' iiij'ii!- . I.I. l;.i'._\ioii, and Nineveh, As large, as bright, as colour'd ,ts the bow Of Iris, when unfading it doth show liL-yoiid a .silver)' shower, was the arch hriiugh which this Paphian army took its march, ,to the- oult*r eiiurts of Neptune's stale; WliL-nce could lie seen, direct, a golden gate. Book hi.] ENDYMIOIV. 1 75 At his right hand stood winged Love, and on His left sat smiling Beauty's paragon. 865 Far as the mariner on highest mast Can see all round upon the calmed vast, So wide was Neptune's hall : and as the blue Doth vault the waters, so the waters drew Their doming curtains, high, magnificent, 870 Aw'd from the throne aloof; — and when storm-rent Disclosed the thunder-gloomings in Jove's air; But sooth'd as now, flash'd sudden everywhere. Noiseless, sub-marine cloudlets, glittering Death to a human eye : for there did spring 875 From natural west, and east, and south, and north, A light as of four sunsets, blazing forth A gold-green zenith 'bove the Sea-God's head. Of lucid depth the floor, and far outspread As breezeless lake, on which the slim canoe 880 Of feather'd Indian darts about, as through The delicatest air : air verily. But for the portraiture of clouds and sky : This palace floor breath-air, — but for the amaze Of deep-seen wonders motionless, — and blaze 885 Of the dome pomp, reflected in extremes, Globing a golden sphere. They stood in dreams Till Triton blew his horn. The palace rang ; The Nereids danc'd ; the Syrens faintly sang ; And the great Sea-King bow'd his dripping head. 890 Then Love took wing, and from his pinions shed On all the multitude a nectarous dew. The ooze-born Goddess beckoned and drew Fair Scylla and her guides to conference ; And when they reach'd the throned eminence 895 She kist the sea-nymph's cheek, — who sat her down (864-5) '^i^ couplet reads as follows in the draft : At his right hand stood winged Love, elate And on nis left Love's fairest mother sate. Ilus reading leaves no doubt, if indeed there was any before, iis to the identity of * smiling Eleauty's paragon." (866) Originally an Alexandrine, reading canopy for vault, but corrected in the manuscript. (889) The draft reads Jicvtf/^ for /{Mi/^. endvmion: ^ A loyiiis Willi HiL- doves. Then, — '■ Mighty crowr Anil --1 ■ ■■!!■■ .■! ilii- l.;Lii;[lom ! "' Venus said, •■ I !,■, .1 liiiiL- to Nais paid: l;i']i' '< < . < .'luLis lear-drops instant fell I'liiii' <.i.. "■ ;,.i-i I. VU5 ; he smil'd delectable, A;ul ■.■.. r I il uicMs hdd his blessing hands. — '- I'.iiil. iiiioii I Ah I still wandering in the bands I n Invt-r Now Ihis is cruel. Since the hour I riiL-i iIhl- in i-arth's bosom, all my power H;ne 1 |«il furlli lo serve thee. What, not yet Hsdji'd from dull mortality's har.ih net? A Utile patience, youth ! 'twill not be long. Or 1 am skilless quite; an idle tongue, A humid eye, and steps luxurious, Whire these are new and strange, are ominous, Ayi-. 1 have seen these signs ir one of heaven, WhcTi others were all blind ; and were I given T" iilli r •■•'trfls. haply I might say Soriii |li ,i-n,ii"il words: but Love will have his day. ^■1 ■A.ii! .luluio expectant. Pr'ythee soon, l.vcii m ilii p.issing of thine honey-moon, my Cythera: thou wilt tind pid well-naliired, my Adonis kind ; d pray persuade with thee — Ah, 1 have dot Book hi.] EriDYMION. 177 New growth about each shell and pendent lyre ; The which, in di sen tangling for their fire, PuiI'd down fresh foliage and coverture 930 For dainty toying. Cupid, empire-sure. Flutter'd and laugh'd, and oft-times through the throng Made a delighted way. Then dance, and song, And garlanding grew wild ; and pleasure reign'd. In h.irmless tendril they each other chain'd, 935 And strove who should be smother'd deepest in Fresh crush of leaves. O 'tis a very sin For one so weak to venture his poor verse In such a place as this. O do not curse. High Muses ! let him hurry to the ending. 940 All suddenly were silent. A soft blending Of dulcet inslrunienls came charmidgly; And then a hymn. ■• King of the stormy sea! Brother of Jove, and co-inheritor Of elements ! Eternally before 945 Thee the waves awful bow. Fa-st, slubbom rock. At thy fear'd trident shrinking, doth unlock Its deep foundations, hissing into foam. All mountain-rivers, lost in the wide home Of thy capacious bosom, ever flow. 950 Thou frownest, and old yEolus thy foe Skulks to his cavern, 'mid the grufT complaint 1 oifreih. and wildnesj reigns. They ImunU each other up in tendril chains... <937) In the draft, crMSkiag, nol fruit ef. l9fjl This passage was wntlen thus — Elcmally in awe Of Ihee the Waves bow down. TwieadingoftheleKt is inserted wilh a pencil in the finished manuscripl. iW-5°) 1" Lrigiit learn }, I gl 1 and scuds along to tt) t golden song 1 le I cl anot of 1 ea ;n Thou art not le ofl) flutes of ou St ng )e soo ling lutes; tnin pe hea d O in, 0 rs b dd ng n an Apnl lin. 1 t leep ng do river's , flow. - h tol an t ang ol Lo e's ow nbow. JoOK in.] ENDVMtON. O sweetest essence ! sweetest of all minions I God of warm pulses, and dishcvell'd hair, Aad paDling bosoms bare ! Dear unseen light in darkness ! ecljpser Of light in light \ delicious poisoner ! Thy venom'd goblet will we quaff until Wefill — wefiU! And by thy Mother's lips " Was heard no more For clamour, when the golden palace door Opened again, and from without, in shone A new magnificence. On ooiy throne Smooth -moving came Oceanus the old. To take a latest glimpse at his sheep-fold. Before he went into his quiet cave To muse for ever — Then a lucid wave, Scoop'd from its trembling sisters of mid-aea. Afloat, and pillowing up the majesty or Doris, and the .^ean seer, her spouse — Nen, on a dolphin, clad in laurel boughs, Theban Amphion leaning on his lute : His fingers went across it — All were mute To giize on Amphilrite, queen of pearls. And Thetis pearly too. — The palace whirls Around giddy Endymion ; seeing he Was there far strayed from mortality. He could not bear it — shut his eyes in vain ; Imagination gave adiziier pain. "0 1 shall die \ sweet Venus, be my stay! Where is my lovely mistress? Well-away ! I die — I hear her voice — I feel my wing — " At Neptune's feet he sank. A sudden ring (983) !n Ihe draft — 0 iweelcsl essence of all sweetest minions! (ran) Neieus, Ihe son of Oceanus. who espoused his sister Dori; bn % dauKhleis. the Nereides. {1007) The draft gives Ihis line thus — Was Ihere, a. stray lamb from mortality. (lou) This line reads thus in the draft — 1 die — lov« calls me hence " — thus inullering_ ENDYMION. I Of Nereids were nboul liim, in kind strife iishiT back his spirit inio life : still he slept. At last they interwove I Their cradling arms, and purpos'd to convey I Towards a crj-stal bower far away. Lo! while slow carried through the pitying crowd. Til his inward senses these words spake aloud; W'ritttn in star-light on the dark above : Iharest Endymioii ! my entire love! Hew hai'e I diudt in fear of fate: Vw (/owe — Immortal bliss for me too hast thou woh. Arise then '. for the hen-dove shall not hatch Ihr ready ei;^s. before I'll kissing snatch Thee into endless heaven. A'tvahe ! aitiake i The youth at once arose : a placid lake Came quiet lo his eyes; and forest green. Cooler than all the wonders he had seen. LuU'd with its simple song his fluttering breast. V happy once again in grassy nest! I After Ihis re the four f. ENDYMION. BOOK IV. MUSE of my native land ! loftiest Muse ! O first-bom on the mountains ! by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual air begot : Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot, While yet our England was a wolfish den ; 5 Before our forests heard the talk of men ; Before the first of Druids was a child ; — Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild Rapt in a deep prophetic solitude. Thzre came an eastern voice of solemn mood : — 10 Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine, Apollo's garland : — yet didst thou divine Such home-bred glory, that they cryM in vain, «* Come hither. Sister of the Island ! " Plain Spake fair Ausonia ; and once more she spake 1 5 A higher summons : — still didst thou betake Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won A full accomplishment ! The thing is done. Which undone, these our latter days had risen (a) This line originally began with O Mountain-dorn in the draft, where also while stands cancelled in favour of bv, (6) The draft reads voice for talk, and in line 7 /tube for child, (10) Cancelled reading of the manuscript, an hebrew voice. (11) The draft reads those nine. The references to the Hebrew, Greek, Roman, and Italian literatures are scarcely as clear and pointed as might have been ex- pected from Keats. (13) In the finished manuscript, in vain they cryd, (14) The draft gives yJ-^/w M^ /j/a«od there is a cancelled opening for line 73, As I do now. ENDYMION. a kindness, such a meek surrender 111V invii full thoughts had made loo tender, ■ I'l !■ I- I, iv life had fied away 1 — ■- minutes of ihe day, , liold ye this for true, ■:_ ■ ■_:, riQ authentic dew ■ !■■ I 1 lliere's not a sound, I. ■ .ii;li in one to such a death ill. !■■!■.< .iflme: there's not a breath lyk- kinlly with the meadow air, IS panted round, and stolen a share an from the heart!" — Upon a bough .. wretched. He surely cannot now ir aiiiiihtT love: O impious, can even dream upon it thus! — lio. '■ Why am I not as are the dead, I w-ii- like this I have been led tlio clark earth, and through the wondrous se i thee not the less : from thee L' I 1 ebb and flow. - ENDYMION. I8S 1 have a iriple soul ! O fond pretence — For both, for both my love is so immense, 1 feel my heart is cm for ihem in twain." And so he groan'd, as one by beauty slain. The lady's heart beat quick, and he coulfl see Her gentle bosom heave tumultuously. He spmog from his green coven : there she lay. Sweet as a muskrose upon new-made hay ; With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyes Shut softly up alive. To speak he tries. '* Fair damsel, pity me I forgive thai I Thus violate thy bower's sanctity ! 0 pardon me, for i am fiiU of grief — Grief born of ihee, young angel ! fairest thief! Who stolen hast away the wiilgs wherewith 1 was to top the heavens. Dear maid, sith Thou art my executioner, and I feel Loving and hatred, misery and weal, Will in a few short hours be nothing to me. And all my story that much passion slew me ; Do smile upon the evening of my days: And. for my tortufd brain begii.s to craze. Be thou my nurse ; and let me understand How dying I shall kiss that lilly hand. — Dost weep for me? Then should 1 be content. Scowl on, ye fotes ! until the firmament Outblackens Erebus, and the full-cavern'd earth Crumbles into itself. By the cioud girth Of Jove, those tears have given me a thirst To meet oblivion." — As her heart would burst The maiden sobb'd awhile, and then reply'd : "Why must such desolation betide (97) In the tint edition Ihls line is — I feel my heart is cu( in iwain for them. And it ij left so in the corrected copy. Il was originally written so i ■Muucript. where, however, the inversion of Ihe lasl four words peraLro that Ihe right reading, thai of the lexl, must have been tlot) Here again Ihe draft is fuller, - thus : Ihe finished s directed in Oil through a Shut softly up alive — Ve harmonies :b ye 10 life so dainty real |86 ENOyMIOl^. As that thou speak'st of ? Are not these green nooks Empty of all misfortune? Do the brooks Utier a gorgon voice? Does yonder thrush, Schooling its half-fledg'd litile ones to brush About the dewy forest, whisper tales? — Speak not of grief, young stranger, or cold snails Will slime the rose to night. Thojgh if thou wilt, Methinks 'twould be a guili — a very guilt — Not to companion thee, and sigh away The light — the dusk — the dark — till break of day I " " Dfar lady," said Endymion, •' 'tis past ; 1 love thee ! and iny daj-s can never last. Thai 1 may pass in patience still speak : Let me have music dying, and I seek No more delight — I bid adieu to all. Didst thou not afler other climates call. And murmur about Indian streams? " — Then she. Sitting beneath the midmost forest tree. For pity sang this roundelay "0 Sorrow, Why dost borrow (127) Inlhisline wcro.id tprak si in the finished manuscript, bu sptalta va'i* first <.-di on. (ia8) For this choice use of the word tmf'ty. compare Shakespeare, Lait Labour Zoi/. Ad V, Scene If, lin illZ-. And 1 shall find ou empty of that fau1t„. (136) of Phcebe still goes on in the draft ; and Endjin- ion'san wet varies, — ihus: Canst thou do ao? Is there no balm, no cur- Could not a bcukoninE Hebe soon allure Thcu into Paradis ? What sorrowing So weighs thee do ■n what utmost woe could bring This madness -S tlhec down by mc, and ease Thine heart in wh pcrs — liaply by degrees ■ I may find out some soothing medicme." — ■■ Dear Ladv," s,iiil Endymion. "1 pine I die— ihc lender accents thou hasi spoken Have finish-d all - my heart is lost and broken. That 1 may pass i naiionce still speak: dying, and I seek Ibidadieutoall. Let me have musi NomoredL-Iight- Didst thou not aft r other chmales call And murmur alxju Indianslreams— now, now — I listen, it tnay sav< me -0 my vow- dying!" The ladye Silling lionealh the midmost forest tree With tears of pity BooKiv.] ENDYMION. 1 87 The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips? — To give maiden blushes To the white rose bushes ? 150 Or is't thy dewy hand the daisy tips? *»0 Sorrow, Why dost borrow The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye? — To give the glow-worm light? 155 Or, on a moonless night, To tioge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry ? *» O Sorrow, Why dost borrow The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue? — 160 To give at evening pale Unto the nightingale. That thou mayst listen the cold dews among? *♦ O Sorrow, Wh)Miost borrow 165 Heart's lightness from the merriment of May? — A lover would not tread A cowslip on the head. Though he should dance from eve till peep of day — Nor any drooping flower 1 70 Held sacred for thy bower. Wherever he may sport himself and play. ♦• To Sorrow, I bade good-morrow. It will be remembered that this antiquated use of the word ladye was defended by Coleridge both in theory and in practice. See the Ballad of I he Dark Ladye. (151) In the first edition /f //; but ///in the manuscript and in the corrected copy. (154) The draft reads lovers eye \ox falcon-eye. (157) Keats has been supposed to have invented the variant ifry for spray for convenience of rhyming, just as Shelley has been accused of inventing lor like itasons the word *r/r«/, for example, in Laon and O'M/m, Canto HI, Stanza xxi. Sandys, the translator of Ovid, may not be a very good authority ; but he is not improbably Keats's authority for spry, and will certainly do in default of a better. TbefoUowiDg couplet is from Sandys *s Ovid (Book XI. verses 49S-9) : Now tossing Seas apF)eare to touch the sky, And wrap their curies in clouds, frotht with their spry. (172) The draft reads However for Wkerroer. (174) In the finished manuscript, bad : in the first edition, bade. lS8 ENDYMION, And Ihought to leave her far away behind; BuL cheerly, cheerly, She loves me dearly ; Slic is sa constant to me, and so kind: I would deceive her And so leave her. But ah ! hhe is s. - - - - [BlXlK IV, ■• Reneath my p.ilm trees, by (he river side, 1 sat a weeping: in the whole world wide Tilers was no one to ask me why I wept, — And so 1 kept ISrimming the water-lilly cups with tears Cold as ray fears. '■ Beneath my palm trees, by the riverside, I sal a weeping; what enamour'd bride. Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds. But hides and shrouds Btneath dark palm trees by a river side? • And as 1 Book iv.] ENDYMION. 1 89 ** Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood, Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood, 210 With sidelong laughing ; And little rills of crimson wine imbru'd His plump white arms, and shoulders, enough white For Venus* pearly bite : And near him rode Silenus on his ass, 215 Pelted with flowers as he on did pass Tipsily quaffing. •* Whence came ye, merry Damsels \ whence came ye ! So many, and so many, and such glee ? Why have ye left your bowers desolate, 220 Your lutes, and gentler fate ? — • We follow Bacchus ! Bacchus on the wing, A conquering \ Bacchus, young Bacchus ! good or ill betide. We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide : — 225 Come hither, lady fair,* and joined be To our wild minstrelsy ! ' «* Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs ! whence came ye I So many, and so many, and such glee ? Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left 230 Your nuts in oak-tree cleft ? — * For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree ; For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms, And cold mushrooms ; For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth ; 235 Great God of breathless cups and chirping mirth ! — Come hither, lady fair, and joined be To our mad minstrelsy ! ' «* Over wide streams and mountains great we went, And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent, 240 Onward the tiger and the leopard pants. With Asian elephants : (aia-M) The draft reads streaks for rills and dainty for enough, (214) In the draft, For any pearly bite, (22z) An additional line comes between 221 and 222 in the draft — We follow Bacchus from a far country. (225) The draft reads beside for before, (23a) The draft resids forest meat lor kernel tree. (^) The draft has endless for chirping. ETfDYMION. Inward iliosf myrUds — with song and dance, i'lih /i.lir.1-, slriiird, and sleek Arabians' prance, l'il)-(iiiil(.(l .illri^.itcirs, crocodiles, iLMiins ii[iim llii'ir scaly backs, in files, liiiTiii iiif.ini l,ui;;lii;rs mimicking the coil If sL-.imen, and slout galley-rowers' toil : /ith lo)'iLi^ oars nnd silken sails they glide. Nor care for wind and tide. ■ M- III'' .1 .-1, !■ iiiilirr>' furs and lions' manes, 1. . \ scour about the plains ; . I . . ■. in a moment done: 111.! ' ■ : .. ,1' ■■ li-Jny of llie sun, iLoiil lliL- v.\V\~. llicv bunt with spear and horn. On spk-enful' unicorn. ' 1 saw (ilsirian ICgypt kneel ado«'n WmUixi tlii^ "vine-wrealh crown! saw paiL-li'd .\ti\s>inia rouse and sing To UiLj silviT cymbals' ring! s,uv liiL- ivlulinlni; vinia^^e holly pierce I llil T.iriary Ibe fierce ! 'W. klii^> iif 1 ridf llieir jewel -sceptres i-ail, >ni! from tliL'ir Irc.isures scatter ]ieadi;d hall ; ENDYMlOtr. _ e throughout every clime i BoMir.] Id search of pi Alas, 't Bewitch'd 1 sure must be. To lose in grieving all my maiden prime. "Come then, Sorrow! Sweetest Sorrow ! IJke an own babe I nurse thee on my breast; I thought to leave thee And deceive ihee. Bat now of all the world I love thee best. " There is not one, But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid; Thou art her mother. And her brother, Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade." O wliat a sigh she gave in finishing. And look, quite dead to every worldly thing! Endymion could not speak, but gaz'd on her; And listened to the wind that now did stir About the crisped oaks full drearily. Yet with as sweet a softness as might be Remember'd from its velvet summer song. At last he said ; " Poor lady, how thus long Have I been able to endure that voice? Fair Melody ! kind Syren ! I've no choice ; i must be thy sad servant evermore; 1 cannot choose but kneel here and adore. Alas, I must not think —by Phrebe, no ! Let me not think, soft Angel ! shall it be so? Say, beautifullest, shall I never think P 0 thou could'st foster me beyond the brink Of recollection ! make my watchful care Com up its bloodshot eyes, nor see despair ! Km\ The genii ipare Sltef and Pottiy, linu i — What is more genlle Ihau s. »ind in summer? Mied muiuicripl. ihain tor lAalJ it. rished idM EtfDYMION. Do ^^ontly murder half my soul, and I Sli.ill f.-f 111,.' iilht^r half so utterly! — I III :;li]i[v .\\ that cheek so fair and smooth; 1 I V-\ ii liknh so ever ! let it soothe }.\\ iii,iiliR-.s! Ill it mantle rosy- warm Willi llif liny;: of love, fjanling in safe alarm. — Tlii.s caniwt be thy liand, and yet it ia; Anii lliis Ls sure thine other softling — this Thinu own fair Ijosom. and 1 am so near! Wilt fall asleep? O let me sip that tear ! And whisper OLie sweet word that I may know This is this world — sweet dewy blossom I" — Wott IIW! WoetotlMt EndymioH'. n'htrtUhef— E'-L-n these words went echoing dismally Thiiii^li ilie wide forest — a most fearful tone, I '\-.v oil'- ri[iLntiiig in his latest moan ; .\iil1 V, liili' 11 died away a shade pass'd by, A, of .1 Ihunder cloud. When arrows fly Thraunh tilt thick branches, poor ring-doves sleek forth Their timid necks and tremble ; so these both Ltaot to each other trembling, and sat so '.litini; for some destruction — when lo, lol-fc.ilher'd Mercury appcar'd sublime L'vond ihc tall tree tops; and in less time ■ ■ ■■ ■ n he drn Book iv.] ENDYMION, I93 So from the turf outsprang two steeds jet-black. Each with large dark blue wings upon his back. The youth of Caria placed the lovely dame 345 On one, and felt himself in spleen to tame The other's fierceness. Through the air they flew, High as the eagles. Like two drops of dew Exhaled to Phoebus' lips, away they are gone, Far from the earth away — unseen, alone, 350 Among cool clouds and winds, but that the free. The buoyant life of song can floating be Above their heads, and follow them untir'd. — Muse of my native land, am I inspired ? This is the giddy air, and I must spread 355 Wide pinions to keep here ; nor do I dread Or height, or depth, or width, or any chance Precipitous : I have beneath my glance Those towering horses and their mournful freight. Could I thus sail, and see, and thus await 360 Fearless for power of thought, without thine aid? — There is a sleepy dusk, an odorous shade From some approaching wonder, and behold Those winged steeds, with snorting nostrils bold Snuff at its faint extreme, and seem to tire, 365 Dying to embers from their native fire ! There curl'd a purple mist around them ; soon. It seem'd as when aroiihd the pale new moon Sad Zephyr droops the clouds like weeping willow : * Twas Sleep slow journeying with head on pillow. 370 For the first time, since he came nigh dead bom From the old womb of night, his cave forlorn Had he left more forlorn ; for the first time, He felt aloof the day and morning's prime — Because into his depth Cimmerian . 375 There came a dream, showing how a young man. (343) The draft reads coal black. (349) 1** ^^® manuscript, they*re for ihey are. Compare Donne, ist Satyre, At last his love he in a window spies, And, like light dew exhaled, he flings from me. (366) In the draft — Seeming but embers to their former fire. (367-8) The draft reads comes for curVd and half moon for new moon, C370) In the draft, voyaging, noK journeying. J4 ENDYMtON. Kit n k'an hnl could plump its wintery skin, Wiiiilil .It li!L:h Jiivc's empyreal footstool wrin .\ II i;;iir.i>i ' \\\\\\ .lud how espouse |.... - i.ii^liii-i. luid be reclton'd ofhis house. \,..i .■..;- i„ ^lniLibering towards heaven's gale* 'J li.ii lu iiLi^l^i .11 the threshold one hour wait Tti luMF lliL' m.trriage melodies, and ihea Sink (lowinv^rJ to his dusky cave again, lli-i liUtT i>f ^itnonlh semilucenl mist, |)i, ..,„.].• i.,,j',| i.jr], roue and amethyst, I'l.'!':'' ■ ■ ■ -iMiror Ihc centre sought; ■ill i.iiont could be caught -\\: : .: ■■ -;i.-,.'ik. with all the stress < I' ' I . I' I liMiu :ts one would look 'i'-i Li. Ii . _. ,:i..i .\\ -.ilvLjf thrtiattd eels, — til- U:>iiL iiUl ^kiiij.in ,s iup, when fog conceals Hi-. uij4!;td I'urthuaU in a mantle pale, Willi .in cye-guesa towards some pleasant vale lk>LTi a favourite hamlet faint and far. Thf-ic raven horses, tiiough they foster'd are t)f latlh's sjilenclic tire, dully drop ^ nsInN hlo( ■ Book ivj ENDVMIOAr. 1 95 Upon his arm he braces Pallas' shield, And strives in vain to unsettle and wield A Jovian thunderbolt: arch Hebe brings 415 A full-brimm'd goblet, dances lightly, sings And tantalizes long ; at last he drinks, And lost in pleasure at her feet he sinks. Touching with dazzled lips her starlight hand. He blows a bugle, — an ethereal band 420 Are visible above : the Seasons four, — Green-kyrtled Spring, flush Summer, golden store In Autumn's sickle. Winter frosty hoar. Join dance with shadowy Hours ; while still the blast, In swells unmitigated, still doth last 425 To sway their floating morris. ** Whose is this? Whose bugle? " he inquires : they smile — ** O Dis \ Why is this mortal here? Dost thou not know Its mistress' lips? Not thou? — 'Tis Dian's: lo! She rises crescented ! " He looks, His she, 430 His very goddess: good-bye earth, and sea. And air, and pains, and care, and suffering; Good-bye to all but love ! Then doth he spring Towards her, and awakes — and, strange, overhead, . Of those same fragrant exhalations bred, 435 Beheld awake his very dream : the gods Stood smiling ; merry Hebe laughs and nods ; And Phcebe bends towards him crescenied. O state perplexing ! On the pinion bed. Too well awake, he feels the panting side 440 Of his delicious lady. He who died (418) In the draft — With pleasure at her knees he swoons and sinks. (430) This line stands thus (an Alexandrine) in the draft : He takes a bugle blows it, an aerial band... ^421) In the draft, overhead for above. (424) Inihe drafts wi/Jk ^A^ sAadotay //ours ; and the next line stands thus (an- c^er Alexandrine) — Echoed in swells unmitigated, still doth last. (4^) The draft reads a mortal, (499-30) In both manuscripts the preceding line stands rhymeless, and these two stand thus — Its Mistress* Lips? Not thou? Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah ! 'Tis Dian's, here she comes, look out afar, so that by the withdrawal of one line two very noticeable flaws were remedied. In line 430, the finished manuscript has a cancelled reading looA'd for iooks. (432) The draft reads cares. uj6 ENDYMiON. Tor soaring loo audacious in Ihe sua, WliL-n ihal same treacherous wax began lo run, l"tU not more longue-tied llian Endymion, His iieart leapt up as to its righllul throne. To ihat fair shadow'd passion puls'd its way — All. wlial ptrplexily ! Ah, well a day ! So fond, so bcauleous was his bed-fellow, Ik- could not help but kiss her: llien he grew A«hile forj;elfiil of all beauty save ^'iiLiEi;; I'liitbL-'s. golden hair'd; and so 'gan crave 1 .11 ^ivLiiuss : \fi he tum'd once more to look At ilii- --ml-i.-i slL'L'per, — all his soul was shook, — ^l■,■ |>ri-.-il h;^ hnnd in slumber; so once more Hi ii'ulii [111 lu-lp but kiss her and adore. Ai iliis tin? shadow wept, melting away. The Lalmian started up: ■• Bright goddess, slay! Search my most hidden breast \ By truth's own tongue, I have no da-dale heart : why is it wrung To liesperalion? Is there nought for me. Upon tlie bourn of bliss, but misery?"' Tht'sc words awoke the stranger of dork tresses : Her dawning loie-look rapt Endymion blesses With 'haviour soft. Sleep yawn'd from underneath. e hreathe Book ivj ENDYMION. 197 Pillowed in lovely idleness, nor dream'st What horrors may discomfort thee and me. Ah, shouldst thou die from my heart-treachery ! — Yet did she merely weep — her gentle soul 470 Hath no revenge in it : as it is whole In tenderness, would I were whole in love ! Can I prize thee, £air maid, all price above. Even when I feel as true as innocence ? I do, I do. — What is this soul then? Whence 475 Came it? It does not seem my own, and I Have no self-passion or identity. Some fearful end must be : where, where is it ? By Nemesis, I see my spirit flit Alone about the dark — Forgive me, sweet : 480 Shall we away?" He rous'd the steeds: they beat Their wings chivalrous into the clear air. Leaving old Sleep within his vapoury lair. The good-night blush of eve was waning slow. And Vesper, risen star, began to throe 4^5 In the dusk heavens silverly, when they Thus sprang direct towards the Galaxy. Nor did speed hinder converse soft and strange — Eternal oaths and vows they interchange. In such wise, in such temper, so aloof 49^ Up in the winds, beneath a starry roof. So witless of their doom, that verily ' Tis well nigh past man^s search their hearts to see ; Whether they wept, or laugh'd, or griev'd, or toy'd — Most like with joy gone mad, with sorrow cloy'd. 495 Full facing their swift flight, from ebon streak. (483) The draft reads — Leaving old Sleep to sail in vapoury lair. (484*7) These four lines stand thus in the draft : The good-night hush of eve was waning slow, And Vesper's timid pulse l>egan to throe In the dusk heavens silverly, when they Thus sprang direct up to the Galaxy. The finished manuscript corresponds with tlie text ; but in the printed book the word silvery for silverly slipped in, and so the passage has been printed ever since. There can be no doubt that silverly was the word intended. (49a) The draft reads w///^jj ^x. -. u mi (495) In the draft there are two cancelled readings, Until and Haply, id place ol Most /iJte;and zvoe stands in the place of Joy, I9S ENDYMIO!^. The moon put forlli a Iillle diamond peak, Ni>li!_'ir ili.iii .111 iiiinbserved star, ( ir iiii' ■ ..■!,■ ■:■ I ri-1- scymetar; It-:^ . -.1' only stoop'd to tie I [ ■■. I - II.' deliciously .Sii. . . I .:....■ ili'_ licjvens her limid head. SIii'aI . -Ir iij^i:, j^ (hough she would have fled, W'liili lii Ills ladv meek the Carian turn'd. T.. liL.i.l. if h^r d'ark eyes had yet discern'd Tliii IjL-.ialy in its birth — Despair! despatrl He saw her body fading gaunt and spare In the cold moonshine. Straight he seiz'd her wrist; It mdtL-d From his grasp: her hand he kiss'd. And. horror \ kiss'd his own — he was alone. Her steed a Htlle higher soar'd, and then Uropt hawkwise to the earth. There lies ; Beyond the seeming confine.s of (he space Made for the soul to wander in and trace den. Book iv.] ENDVM/OAr. 1 99 Sleep may be had in that deep den of all. 525 There anguish does not sting ; nor pleasure pall : Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate. Yet all is still within and desolate. Beset with plainful gusts, within ye hear No sound so loud as when on curtained bier 530 The death-watch tick is stifled. Enter none Who strive therefore : on the sudden it is won. Just when the sufferer begins to burn, Then it is free to him ; and from an urn, Still fed by melting ice, he takes a draught — 535 Young Semele such richness never quaft In her maternal longing ! Happy gloom I Dark Paradise ! where pale becomes the bloom Of health by due ; where silence dreariest Is most articulate ; where hopes infest ; 540 Where those eyes are the brightest far that keep Their lids shut longest in a dreamless sleep. 0 happy spirit-home ! O wondrous soul ! Pregnant with such a den to save the whole In thine own depth. Hail, gentle Carian! 545 For, never since thy griefs and woes began, Hast thou felt so content : a grievous feud Hath led thee to this Cave of Quietude. Aye. his lullM soul was there, although upborne With dangerous speed : and so he did not mourn 550 « Because he knew not whither he was going. So happy was he, not the aerial blowing (526-7) The draft reads thus : There anguish stings not — sweetness cannot pall : Dark hurricanes of woe t)eat ever at the gate,... (531) The draft has muffied in place of Uifitd. (534) The draft reads This den is free to him. (539) The curious expression Of health by due, unmistakably so written in the finished manuscript and printed in the first edition, is represented in the draft by T^ rightful tinge of health. We may therefore presume that by due is used as ao equivalent for by right, (542) The draft reads close for shut, (546) In the dnix, griefs and Joys, (548) In the first edition. Hath let; but led in both manuscripts. (550) In the draft this line reads thus : With dangerous speed : nor did he sigh and moum.« In the finished manuscript it was written thus : On dangerous winds : and so he did not mourn... and then changed so as to correspond with the text. ENDYMlOl^. Is at clear parley from the east e from thai fine relish, Ihat high feast. P"hey stung the feather'd horse : with fierce alarm JHe flapp'd towards the sound. Alas, no charm tould lift Endymion's head, or he had view'd \ skyey mask, a pinion'd multitude, — \nil silvery was its passing: voices sweet Garbling the while as if to lull and greet The wanderer in his path. Thus warbled Ihey, A'hile past the vision weal in bright array. " Who, who from Dian's feast would he away? ir all the golden bowers of the day re empty left? Who, who away would be rom Cynthia's wedding and festivity? ot Hesperus : la \ upon his silver wings e leans away for highest heaven and ainga, ISnapping his lucid fingers merrily! — lAh. Zephyrus! art here, and Flora too I hfe tender bibbers of the rain and dew, poung playmates of the rose and daffodil, 'e careful, ere yc enter in, to fill Your baskets high v^ Book iv.] ENDYMION. 20I Yea, every flower and leaf of every clime, All gatherM in the dewy morning: hie Away ! fly, fly ! — 580 Crystalline brother of the belt of heaven, Aquarius ! to whom king Jove has given Two liquid pulse streams ^stead of feather'd wings. Two fan-like fountains, — thine illuminings For Dian play: 585 Dissolve the frozen purity of air ; Let thy white shoulders silvery and bare Show cold through watery pinions ; make more bright The Star-Queen\s crescent on her marriage night : Haste, haste away ! — 590 Castor has tam'd the planet Lion, see ! And of the Bear has Pollux mastery : A third is in the race ! who is the third. Speeding away swift as the eagle bird ? The ramping Centaur ! 595 The Lion's mane's on end : the Bear how fierce ! The Centaur's arrow ready seems to pierce Some enemy : far forth his bow is bent" Into the blue of heaven. He'll be shent. Pale unrelentor, 600 When he shall hear the wedding lutes a playing Andromeda ! sweet woman ! why delaying So timidly among the stars : come hither ! Join this bright throng, and nimbly follow whither They all are going. 605 Danae's Son, before Jove newly bow'd. Has wept for thee, calling to Jove aloud. Thee, gentle lady, did he disenthral : Ye shall for ever live and love, for all Thy tears are flowing. — 610 By Daphne's fright, behold Apollo ! — " More Endymion heard not : down his steed him bore. Prone to the green head of a misty hill. (584) This was originally a short line consisting of the words Thine illumininp\ akme. The whole stanza, lines 581 to 590, was sent by Keats to his friend Baily for his •* vote, pro or con," in a letter dated the 22nd of November 1817. (589) The draft reads Night-Queen* siox S/ar-Queen's, \S93) The draft reads Ay three are tn the race / (607-8) The draft reads — calling to Jove aloud For thee — thee gentle did he disenthrall. ENDYMIQN. iniich of ihe earth wenl nigh to kill. i..j(l lie. " were 1 but always Ixinie I LPi'.;emii.s winds, had but my foolstcps w li- II. lor ever would 1 bless rl f.( sultcn conquering: to him lyiiiid earth's boundary, grief is dim, ii .» shadow : now I see I fftl Ihe -solid ground — Ah. me! :i_ — divineat ! Where? — who? who quiet on this bed of dew? I ihis happy earth we are; JVC each other; let us fare Tgo ilii- .il.iidcs of mortals here below, y |ili,iiil(inis dup'd. O destiny! ,llJ^^i^lUl now my soul would ny, li thy beauty will I deaden it. I Where didst thou melt to? By thee will I s r ever ; let our fate stop here — a kid >n this spot will offer: Pan will bid I live in peace, in love and peace among .s forest wilderneisses. I have dung Q nothing, lov'd a nolhing. nothing seen Book iv.] ENDVMIOlf. 303 Of heroes gone ! Against his proper glory Has my own soul conspired : so my story Will I to children utter, and repunt. 645 There never liv'd a mortal man, who bent His appetite beyond his natural sphere. But starv'd and died. My sweetest Indian, here. Here will I kneel, for thou redeemed hast My life from loo thin breathing : gone and past 650 Are cloudy phantasms. Caverns lone, farewell I And air of visions, and the monstrous swell Of visionary seas \ No, never more Shall airy voices cheat me to the shore Of tangled wonder, breathless and aghast. 65J Adieu, my daintiest Dream ! although so vast My love ia still for thee. The hour may come When we shall meet in pure elysium. On earth 1 may not love thee ; and therefore Doves will I offer up. and sweetest store 660 All through the teeming year: so thou wilt shine On me, and on this damsel fair of mine. And bless our simple lives. My Indian bliss ! My rivcr-lilly bCd ! one human kiss ! One Mgh of real breath — one gentle squeeze, fifij Warm as a dove's nest among summer trees, And warm with dew at ooze from living blood ! Whither didst melt ? Ah, what of that ! — all good We'll talk about — no more of dreamiiig. — Now, Where shall our dwelling be? Under the brow 670 (646) The draft has Hie word H.is instead of fluti. (649) la the finisliEd m,iniiscri|it iliis lincsunds thus: — ^llt I ktiL-cl, fur Ihou redeemed 1i;ibI... (650] Wcxidliouse notes the foltuwtng varialian. presumnbly rram the drift : — My spirit from too thin a brenlh — goTkc and pastw. ffisj) Woodhouso nolts Ihe variuion A'u more, no mort. See Book 11, lino 199 elito., for the eiplnnalion of this speecli of l£rul>-niion'i. (656) Woodhouse noH3 Hie vuriiilion h-rj> vitil. keia vat/. (66Q) Woodliouse notes the ^.iiMion / of.-rtiee. (661) Cancelled reading of the Tinished manuscript. tiaiU for liiMi. (664) Woodliouse notes the v.iri.ilion m.-rhd lor human. 666) An imaginalion inuliich Hunt wuuld have found it difficult 10 discover die reslhyibul probably Keats had never seen the miserable |>la1(oriii of dry (^o) Endymion's imaginaiy home and emplnytnenis as pictured in Ihe next fifty line* may l>e compared with She)le>'s .l^ui'an isiatKl described u> wonderfully in Efi/ij/eAikiPM, Both passages ate Ihoroughly chaiacleristic ; and Uiey show Ihe direcxence between the nodes of thouglu utitl scntimeDl of the two men ia a verir imrked Mtr. ENDYMION- e sleep mossy hill, where ivy dun I Would hide us up, although spring leaves were no 1 And where dark yew trees, as we rustle through, I Will drop their scarlet berry cups of dew? I O thou wouldst joy to live in such a place ; 1 Dusk for our loves, yet light enough lo grace 1 Those gentle limbs on mossy bed reclin'd : J Far by one step the blue sky shouldst thou find, I And by anolhe:. in deep dell below, I See. through the trees, a little river go 1 All in its mid-day gold and glimmering. I Honey from out the gnarled hive I'll bring, I And apples, wan with sweetness, gather Ihee, — 1 Cresses that grow where no man may ihem see, I And sorrel unlorn by the dew-ciaw'd stag; I Pipes will I fashion of (he syrinx flag, I That thou ma>st always know whither I roam, 1 When it shall please thee in our quiet home I To listen and think of love. Still let me speak; let me dive into the joy I seek, — yet the pa";! doth prison me. The n!!. u haply mayst delight in, will 1 fill Book iv.] ENDYMION. 20$ ni kneel to Vesta, for a flame of fire ; And to god Phoebus, for a golden lyre ; To Empress Dian, for a hunting spear ; To Vesper, for a taper silver-clear, That I may see thy beauty through the night ; 705 To Flora, and a nightingale shall light Tame on thy finger ; to the River-gods, And they shall bring thee taper fishing-rods Of gold, and lines of Naiads^ long bright tress. Heaven shield thee for thine utter loveliness ! 710 Thy mossy footstool shall the altar be 'Fore which Til bend, bending, dear love, to thee : Those lips shall be my Delphos, and shall speak Laws to my footsteps, colour to my cheek. Trembling or stedfastness to this same voice, 715 And of three sweetest pleasurings the choice: And that affectionate light, those diamond things. Those eyes, those passions, those supreme pearl springs, Shall be my grief, or twinkle me to pleasure. Say, is not bliss within our perfect seisure.'* 720 O that I could not doubt ! " The mountaineer Thus strove by fancies vain and crude to clear His briar'd path to some tranquillity. It gave bright gladness to his lady's eye. And yet the tears she wept were tears of sorrow ; 725 Answering thus, just as the golden morrow Beamed upward from the vallies of the east : •* O that the flutter of this heart had ceasM, Or the sweet name of love had pass'd away. (709) The draft reads with for and. (716) This line originally began with the words And the most velvet, which are struck out in the finished manuscript. Woodhouse notes, doubtless from the draft, the line — And the most velvet peaches to my choice. (yao) The draft reads Is not, then, bliss ^ &c. (731) In the first edition there is a note of interrogation after doubt : but a note of exclamation stands there both in the manuscript and in the corrected copy. (723) The draft reads The for His. (724-5) At the end of the book containing the draft, Keats wrote, apparently as a memorandum for this passage, the two lines — There was rejoicing in his Lady's eye And yet the tears she wept were tears of sorrow, (7a6) The draft has what time lot Just as. ENDYMION. n^ fi'niliiT'd tyrant ! by a swift decay 'i><< ' \<>i(.' this body to the earth: ■:..iik thai at my very birth ,. ..li.omins titles inwardly; .iL :!,:. mzit, lirst dawn and thought of thee, :i uplift hands I blest the stars of heaven. tiiou not cruel? Ever have I striven JTo think thee kind, but ah, it will not do! |\Vhi;n yet a child, i heard that kisses drew "avour from thcc, and so I kL<»es gave [) ihc void air, bidding them lind out love: 111 when I came to feel how far above IaII fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood, Mtlhly plea';ure. all imagin'd good, i the warm Irfmlile of a devout kiss, — II lh(?n, that moment, at the thought of this, iling I fell into a bed of flowers, lAnd Ian;,'uish'd there three days. ¥e milder powers, |Am 1 not cruelly wrong'd? Believe, believe ny own fancies garlands of sweet life, |Thou shouldst be one of all. Ah. bitter strife ! V not Idg ihv love: I am forbidden — Book iv.] END YM ION. 207 No, no, that shall not be : thee will I blesa^ And bid a long adieu/^ The Carian No word return'd : both lovelorn, silent, wan. Into the vallies green together went. 765 Far wandering, they were perforce content To sit beneath a fair lone beechen tree ; Nor at each other gaz'd, but heavily Por'd on its hazle cirque of shedded leaves. Endymion ! unhappy ! it nigh grieves 770 Me to behold thee thus in last extreme : Ensky'd ere this, but truly that I deem Truth the best music in a first-born song. Thy lute-voic*d brother will I sing ere long. And thou shalt aid — hast thou not aided me? 775 Yes, moonlight Emperor ! felicity Has l>een thy meed for many thousand years ; Yet often have I, on the brink of tears, Mourn'd as if yet thou wert a forester ; — Forgetting the old tale. He did not stir 780 His eyes from the dead leaves, or one small pulse Of joy he might have felt. The spirit culls Unfaded amaranth, when wild it strays Through the old garden-ground of boyish days. A little onward ran the very stream 785 By which he took his first soft poppy dream ; And on the very bark 'gainst which he leant A crescent he had carv'd, and round it spent His skill in little stars. The teeming tree Had swollen and green'd the pious charactery, 790 (766) This line begins in the draft with Lon^^ instead oi Far, (769) The draft reads carpet of shed leaves instead oi cirquj of shedded leaves. (772) In the draft — That hadst been high ere this, but that I deem... (774) Another allusion to tlie poetic scheme of which the sumptuous fragment Hyperion \s the unachieved result. (778) The draft reads — Yet often have I, mid some foolish tears,... (783) The draft has perchance in place olwiid, so as to make amaranth scan as a dissyllable. ENDYMION. He had nol wil Nor could an a Y\y in (he air w And yei lie knt '>ut. Why, tliere was not a slope lad not fear'd the antelope ; ^ beneath whose rooty shade ih his tamed leopards play'd : light, or javelia, his had never been— O treachery I I Why does his lady smile, pleasing her eye I With ali his sorrowing? He sees her not. Iltut who so stares on him? His sister stire I I IVona of the woods \ — Can she endure — I Impossible — how dearly they embrace ! I His lady smiles ; delight is in her bee ; o treachery. ■' Dear brother mine ! I Kndymion. weep nol so I Why shouldst thou pine " "■ en all great Lalmus so exalt will be? ink the great nods, and look not bitterly; I !;]ieak in>i one pale word, and sigh no more, e I Mill nol believe ihou hast such store Book iv.] ENDYMION, 209 The flowers of autumn for your coronals. Pan^s holy priest for young Endymion calls ; 815 And when he is restored, thou, fairest dame, Shalt be our queen. Now, is it not a shame To see ye thus, — not very, very sad ? Perhaps ye are too happy to be glad : O feel as if it were a common day ; 820 Free-voic'd as one who never was away. No tongue shall ask, whence come ye? but ye shall Be gods of your own rest imperial. Not even I, for one whole month, will pry Into the hours that have pass'd us by, 825 Since in my arbour I did sing to thee. O Hermes ! on this very night will be A hymning up to Cynthia, queen of light ; For the soothsayers old saw yesternight Good visions in the air, — whence will befal, 830 As say these sages, health perpetual To shepherds and their flocks ; and furthermore. In Dian's face they read the gentle lore : Therefore for her these vesper-carols are. Our friends will all be there from nigh and far. 835 Many upon thy death have ditties made ; And many, even now, their foreheads shade With cypress, on a day of sacrifice. New singing for our maids shalt thou devise. And pluck the sorrow from our huntsmen's brows. 840 Tell me, my lady-queen, how to espouse This wayward brother to his rightful joys ! His eyes are on thee bent, as thou didst poise His fate most goddess-like. Help me, I pray. To lure — Endymion, dear brother, say 845 What ails thee? '' He could bear no more, and so (815) Woodhouse notes the variation Great Pans high prUst, (816) Woodhouse notes the variation — This Shepherd Prince restor'd, thou, fairest dame,^. (819) Woodhouse notes the following two variants of this line, — one expressl]^ firom the draft and the other presumably from the same source : (i) Perhaps ye feel too much joy — too ovcrglad : (2) Perhaps ye are too glad, too overglad. (825) The draft reads Into the long hours, so as to avoid the necessity for scan- Ding hours as a dissyllable. (827) In the draft thus — Why I hark ye ! on this very eve will bc^ (840) The draft has cypress for sorrow. ENOVMION. liis soul fierculy like a spiritual bow, twaii^''[i il inwardly, and calmly said : i()ul[i have thee my only friend, sweet maid ! I My nji :i !;olcleti eve? The bree/e is sent :"i]| arnl Mift, that not a leaf may fall -(.■ llii' st-rene father of Ihem all 1 down his summer head below the west. am I of breath, speech, and speed possest, I But .-it the setting I must bid adieu BTo her for the last lime. Night will strew ■ On the damp gra.sB myriads of lingering leaves, lAnd with (hem shall I die; nor much it grieves I To die, when summer dies on the cold sward. 1 have been a butterfly, a lord iers, garlands, love-knots, silly posies, i, meadows, melodies, and arbour roses ; Book iv.] ENDYMION. 2 1 3 Until that grove appearM, as if perchance, And then his tongue with sober seemlihed 950 Gave utterance as he entered : ** Ha! I said, •« King of the butterflies ; but by this gloom. And by old Rhadamanthus^ tongue of doom. This dusk religion, pomp of solitude. And the Promethean clay by thief endued, 955 By old Saturnus^ forelock, by his head Shook with eternal palsy, I did wed Myself to things of light from infancy ; And thus to be cast out, thus lorn to die. Is sure enough to make a mortal man 960 Grow impious/^ So he inwardly began On things for which no wording can be found; Deeper and deeper sinking, until drown'd Beyond the reach of music : for the choir Of CjTithia he heard not, though rough briar 965 Nor muffling thicket interposed to dull The vesper hymn, far swollen, soft and full, Through the dark pillars of those sylvan aisles. He saw not the two maidens, nor their smiles. Wan as primroses gathered at midnight 970 By chilly finger'd spring. ** Unhappy wight ! Endymion ! " said Peona, ** we are here ! What wouldst thou ere we all are laid on bier?" Then he embraced her, and his lady's hand Press'd, saying: »* Sister, I would have command, 975 If it were heaven's will, on our sad fate." At which that dark-ey'd stranger stood elate And said, in a new voice, but sweet as love, (949-50) In the draft — Until he saw that grove, as if perchance, And then his soul was changed... (951) The inverted commas are closed after Hat in the first edition; but it is not so in the manuscript ; and the matter is set right in the corrected copy. (955) Cancelled reading of the manuscript. And by Promethean,,, This was prot^ly rejected to get rid of the repetition of the word by, (956) The draft reads And by old Saturn s singte forelock... (967) The draft reads prelude for vesper, (968) It is worth noting that, when writing out the fair copy, Keats made three several attempts to spell this word aisles rightly, having first written it isles, then atles and lastly aisles, {974^7) The draft reads as follows : — Her brother kissM her, and his lady*s hand Saying, ** Sweet sister I would have command, If it were heaven's will, on our sad fate." Then that dark-tressed stranger stood elate.^ ENDYMWN. ■"o Endymicn's atnaje : " By Cupid's dove, Iriii so ibou shall ! and by Ihe lilly truth pf my own breast ihou shalt. beloved youlh ! " ' a.'i 5I11! spake, into her face there came t. as rr-HecU'd from a silver Rame ; I(i[i^' l.l.n,)i hair swell'd ampler, in display ;:,iK!.ri; ill litT eyes a brigliier day nd I I'll' aiifi full of love. Aye. he beheld Ij^. Iii-. (j.ission \ joyous she upheld lucid bow. continuing thus: " Drear, drear our delaying been ; but foolish fear KVithhi'ld mc first ; and then decrees of fate ; T^nd then 'twas fit thai from this mortal state lou shouldst, my love, by some unlook'd for change apirJIuali/d. Peona, we shall range n-ii- foresis, and lo lliee they safe sh.ill be urii (111.- cradle : hither shalt thou (lee . iii.my .1 time," Next Cynthia bright ■ i. .i"d bless'd with fair good night! l.L-s'd her too. and knelt adown i..,i. III. ;,uJ.1l>s'^. in a blissful swoon, t f;.ivt- liff fair hands lo him. and behold, fiire ihrt'c swiflL-st kisses he had told. LAMIA, ISABELLA, TUB EVE OF ST. AGNES, OTHER FOEMS. BY JOHN KEATS, LONDOX: PRINTED FOR TAYLOR AND HESSET, yLKKJSTny.y.j. 1820. ADVERTISEMENT. If any apology be thought necessary for the appearance of the unfinished poem of Hyperion, the publishers beg to state that they alone are responsible, as it was printed at their particular request, and contrary to the wish of the author. The poem was intended to have been of equal length with Endymion, but the reception given to that work discouraged the author from pro- ceeding. FUei-Sireet^Jmu a6, i8aa («7) CONTENTS. e Eve of St, Agnes . 265 (■ to a Nightingale . , agi t on a Grecian Urn ........ 295 1; to Psyche 297 [Keate's Ihird and last book, bsued in th« tummer of iSlo, U a duodecimo, put up in stout dral> boards similar to those of Eni/ymion, wilh a back liliel Lamia, fiaitlla, St. p. 6d. It coni.ist» of ny-title with imprint on vei^o, " LONDON : printed by thomas i.avison, whitefriars," lille-paee, Adver- dsement. and Contenit, as given op)H>siie, and pages t to 199, including lh« Dy-litles to Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, the iriicel Ian eons Paemi, and Ifyperion, all as reproduced m Ihe following pages. There ate head-lines in Roman capitals running throughout each section, recto and verw alike, (1) Lamia, {3.) ItaMla, (3) Eve a/ Si. Agnrs, (4) Peems, and (5) llyperien. The pages are numWred in the usual way uith Arabic figures; and in Lamia and Hy/ierioit the Parts and Books are marked at [he inner side of the head-line in smaller Roman capitals. On Ibe veno of page 199, the imprint of Davison is repealed; and there are eight pages of Taylor and Ilessey'i advcrliscmcnls, beginning with one of EnJym- tan. Leigh Hunt's review of Ibis volume filled The Imliealer fur the 2nd and 9lh of August, rSlo, and is reprinted as an Appendix in this edition of Keals's Work. A large part of the contents of the volume still eiisls in manu- script. Each manuscript that I have seen will be found referred to in it* place. — H.B.F.] (ai9) ■ On the i2Ihorjuly 1819 KeRtsvrrole to Reynolds that he hail "proceeded wilh ' Lamia,' finishing the lira! put, which consiiU oF abouL four n." He Bdda, " I have great hopes of succesi, because I malie f of toy judgment more deliberately than 1 yet have done; but in case of ute wirh the world, I ihatl Eind my content." Lard Houghton records, on autharity of Charles Armitage Brown. Ihal Laaiia " had been in h^nd ■' lie," and that Ke«l» wrote it " with great care, after much stuity o( X versiJicatian." In August Keals wrote to Baily ttom Winchester, itioning the " balf-finisbed " Lamia among recent work. On the Jlh of l^tenilieT 1S19 he wrote lo Taylor thai he had finished Lamia since linish- " Ihe tragedy " {Ol/io ike Crtai). The manuscript of Lamia cunsjsls of :nty-sii leaves, foolscap folio, generally written upon one side only. It is LAMIA. PART I. UPON a time, before the faery broods Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, Before King Oberon's bright diadem. Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem, Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns 5 From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'd lawns. The ever-smitten Hermes empty left His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft : From high Olympus had he stolen light. On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight ic Of his great summoner, and made retreat Into a forest on the shores of Crete. For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt ; At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured '5 Pearls, while on land they withered and adored. Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont. And in those meads where sometime she might haunt, Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse, Though Fancy's casket were unlocked to choose. 20 Ah, what a world of love was at her feet ! So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat Burnt from his winged heels to either ear. That from a whiteness, as the lilly clear, BlushM into roses 'mid his golden hair, 25 Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare. From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew. Breathing upon the flowers his passion new. And wound with many a river to its head. To find where this sweet nymph prepar'd her secret bed : 30 {4) The manuscript shows a cancelled reading, sandals for mofitU, (15) Cancelled manuscript reading, And at whose feet. LAMIA. 1 : the swec'l nymph might nowhere be found, J\iirl so liL- rL--ted, on the looelv ground, v(:. .-iiiil iull of painful jealouiiies L- Wood-Gods, and even the vtry trees. ■ .n 111.- ^iiKnl. Iif heard a mournful voice, .1- ■■.■■■;■ .II'' ill ;;(;nlle heart, destroys I' I ' ' I ' .iihed tomb shall I awake I iiiii''.. II ■ Acct body fit for life, (I love, and [jlcasure, and the ruddy strife •■ Of hearts and lips ! Ah, miserable tne ! " AC God. dove-footed, glided silently nind bush and tree, soft-bru.ihing, in his speed, [rhe taller grasses and full-ftoivering weed, Until he found a |>alp!lating snake, IBnghl, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake. She tvas a gordian shape of dazzling hue, ^'ermilion-spotted. golden, green, and blue; kirip'd like a zebra, freckled like a pard, ^y'd like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd; id full of silver moons, thai, as she brtalhed, ssolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwrcalhed And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay, Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey. " Fair Hermes, crown'd wilh feathers, fluttering light, •' I had a splendid dream of thee 1,-isl niglit : " I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold, 70 "Among the Gods, upon Olyntpus old, •' The only sad one ; for iliou didsi not hear •' The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chaunling clear, '• Nor even Apollo when he sang alone, •' Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious moan. 75 '* I dreamt I saw thee, rob'd in purple Hakes. " Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks, " And, swiftly as a hrighl Phcebuan dart, '* Strike for the Cretan isle ; and here thou art 1 " Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid ? " 8e Whereat the star of Lethe not dclay'd His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired: "Thou smooth-lipped serpent, surely high inspired! " Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes, •' Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise, 85 '* Telling me only where my nymph is fled, — "Where she doth breathe I" " Bright planet, thou hast said," Relumed the snake, " but seal with oaths, fair God ! " " I swear," said Hermes, '■ by my serpent rod, " And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown ! " 90 Ught flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown. Then thus again the brilliance feminine: " Too frail of heart ! for this lost nymph of thine, '■ Free as the air, invisibly, she straj-s •' About these thornless wilds ; her pleasant days 95 " She tastes unseen ; unseen her nimble feet " Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet ; *' From weary tendrils, and bow'd branches green, "She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes un.seen: " And by my ]>o\ver is her beauty veil'd loo " To keep it unalTronted, unassail'd {69) The manuscript leads sUivr lor tplmJid. (78) lnthem.-im,scri|»- And, iniflly as a misaion'd plicebwin dart, a reading which shifts llic accent from ihe si'cond 10 the fatx lyllable or the word Pkxliean. {93) Cancelled manuscriin reading. Suptri ofkiarll LAMIA. ■■ R}- the love-giances of unlovely eyes. I'- Of Satyrs. Fauns, and blear'd Silenus' sighs. '■ Pale grew her immortality, for woe '■ Of all these lovers, and she grieved so '■ 1 look compassioa on her, bade her steep " Her hair in weird syropa, that would keep I" Tier loveliness invisible, yet free wander as she loves, in liberty. ]u shall bcliold her, Hermes, thou alone, "If Ihou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon I" e again, the charmed Cod began JAn oath, and through the serpent's eare it tan KVarm, tremulous, devout, psallerian. Jit.ivish'd, she lifted her Circean head. iBIush'd a live damask, and swifl-lisping said, man, let me have once more shape, and charming as before. " I love a yiiulh of Corinth — O ihe bliss! " Give mc my woman's form, and place me where he u •' Sloop, Hermes, let me breathe upon Ihy brow, '• And thou sh.ill see thy sweet nymph even now." c God on h.ilf-shut feathers sank serene. J brtaih'tl ujion his eyes, and swift was seen Part i.] LAMIA, 225 And towards her stept : she, like a moon in wane, Faded before him, cower'd, nor could restrain Her fearfid sobs, self-folding like a flower That faints into itself at evening hour : But the God fostering her chilled hand 140 She felt the warmth, her eyelids open'd bland. And, like new flowers at morning song of bees, Bloom'd, and gave up her honey to the lees. Into the green-recessed woods they flew ; Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do. 145 Left to herself, the serpent now began To change ; her elfin blood in madness ran. Her mouth foam'd, and the grass, therewith besprent. Withered at dew so sweet and virulent ; Her eyes in torture fix'd, and anguish drear, 1 50 Hot, glaz'd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear, Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear. The colours all inflam'd throughout her train. She writh'd about, convuls'd with scarlet pain : A deep volcanian yellow took the place 155 Of all her milder-mooned body's grace ; And, as the lava ravishes the mead. Spoilt all her silver mail, and golden brede; Made gloom of all her frecklings, streaks and bars, EclipsM her crescents, and lick'd up her stars : 160 So that, in moments few, she was undrest Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst. And rubious-argent : of ail these bereft, Nothing but pain and ugliness were left. Still shone her crown ; that vanished, also she 165 Melted and disappeared as suddenly ; And in the air, her new voice luting soft, Cry'd, *• Lycius ! gentle Lycius ! " — Borne a'oft With the bright mists about the mountains hoar These words dissolved : Crete's forests heard no more. 170 (142J Cancelled manuscript reading. And she like flowers.., (155) The manuscript reads r///^ all ii.s mist and cloudy rack, I-1-. -.uv,ird If) Clfone. There she stood it a nnin<^ WmVa flutter friim a wood, ijii a sloijin;; ^T^etn of mossy tread, clifar ])0(il. uliLrein she ]>assioned ■e litrsflf e!,c.ip'd from so sore ills, c liLT robes liaunled with the daiibdils. Ah, happy Lycius ! — for she was a maid ^lorc beautiful than ever twisted braid, sigh'd, or blush 'd, or on spring- flowered lea tipread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy: \ virgin purest-bpp'd, yet in the loi'e 'i;cp learned to the red heart's core: lour olil, yut of scieiilial brain |ilo\ bliss from its neighlxiur pain; >«s Sweet days a lovely graduate, still un.shent, And kept his rosy lerins in idle UnguLshment. Why this fair creature chose so faerily 20 By the wayside lo linger, we shall sec ; But first "lis fit to ttll how she could muse And dream, when in the ser[>cnt prison-house, or all she list, strange or magnificent : How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went ; 30 Whether lo faint Elysium, or where Down through tress-lifiing waves ihe Nereids fair Wind into Thetis' !>ower by many a pearly slair ; Or where God Itacchus drains his cups divine, Slrelch'd out. at ease, bene.ilh a glutinous pine; 31 Or where in Pluto's gardens p.ilatine Mulciber's columns gleam in far pia/zian line. And sometimes into cities she would send Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend ; And once, while among mortals dreaming thus, 31 She saw the young Corinthian Lyclus Charioting foremost in the envious r.icc, LJke a young Jove with calm uncager face. And fell into a swooning love of him. Now on the moth-lime of that evening dim 22 He would return thai way. as well she knew. To Corinth from the shore ; for freshly blew The eastern soft wind, and his galley now Crated the quaystones with her brazen prow In port Cenchreas. from Egina isle 31 Fresh anchor'd ; whiihcr he had been awhile To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there Waits with high marble doors for blood and Incense rare. Jove heard his vows, and beller'd his desire ; For by some freakful chance he maile retire 23 From his companions, and set forth to walk. Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk : Over the solitary hills he fared. Thoughtless al lirst, but ere eve's star appeared (198) Camp.-irc wiili this line Tennyson's now constantly quoted phrase.iuw girtgradnala. in Ihe Proli^ue to 'I hi Prmeiss. (aia) Tliewonii/jr/'/oii/ji/ia* were wrilten In the first initance; bulyiir w. (tnick out in fiivour of Im^: As far stands in llie Rrsi edition, [ jiresume Kea leHored il on [econsidcmlion. (335) Or^inally, In karbaur CiHcriai, altered with Ihe same result as regan s plmntasy ivas Inst, where reason lades, |n ilii; ca)m'(l t»ili^li[ of Platnnic shades. lia btht-kl him coming, near, more near — tt to luT pa.ssini;. in indiflerence drear, silent saiHl:il!> swept the mossy green; leighLiour'd lo liim, and yet so unseeq |ihc Blood : he juss'd, shut tip in mysteries, iiind wrapp'd like his mantle, while her eyes iiv'd his steps, and her neck regal white 'li — syllabling thus, "Ah, Lycius bright, I' And Hill you leave me on the hills alone? ■ Ljcius. look back ! and be some pity shown." ' : did ; not wilh cold wonder fearingly, It Orpheiis-like at an Eurydice; ir so delicious were the words she sung, seem'd he had lov'd them a whole summer long : id soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up, av'ing no drop in the bewildering cup, [\nd still the cup was full, — while he, afraid it she should vanish ere his lip had paid e adoration, thus began to adore; soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so surt !■ Leave Ihee alone ! Look back ! Ah, Goddess, see Part i.] LAMIA. '* For pity do not melt! " — "If I should stay," Said Lamia, •• here, upon this floor of clay, " And pain my steps upon these fiowera too rough, " What canst thou say or do of charm enough " To dull the nice remembrance of my home? *■ Thou canst not ask me with ihee here to roam " Over these hills and vales, where no joy is, — ■■ Empty of immortality and bliss ! " Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know " Thai finer spirits cannot breathe below •• In human climes, and live; Alas! poor youth, " What taste of purer air hast ihou to soothe " My essence? What sereuer palaces, " Where I may all my many senses please, "And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease? "Il cannot be — Adieu! " So said, she rose •■ Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose The amorous promise of her lone complain, Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain. The cruel lady, without any show Of sorrow for her lender favourite's woe. But rather, if her eyes could brighter be. With brighter eyes and slow amenity, Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh The life she had so tangled in her mesh : And as he from one trance was wakening Into another, she began to sing. Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing, A song of love, too sweel for earthly lyres, While, like held breath, the st.irs drew in their panting fires And then she whisper'd in such trembling lone. As those who. safe together met alone For the first time through many anguish'd days, Use other speech than looks ; bidding him rmse His drooping head, and dear his soul of doubt. For that she was a woman, and without Any more sublle fluid in her veins Than throl)bing blood, and that the self-same pains Inhabited her frail-strung heart as liis. in Ihii line. UA vihiit fpnad ar\ I for Ihrsagh. i, Thau Ikroibtd im tit. Iiow his eyes could miss nlh. where, she said, 1, and Ihere had led coin could invent yet in content nee she pass'd him by, he leant ihoughlfully 'mid baskets heap'd fljwers, newly reap'd w w Ihe night before htreof she saw no more, c dnys, for why should she adore? ging* n from amaze into delight he fell ITa hear her whisper woman's lore so well ; l\nd every word she spake entic'd him on Ito imjKrplex'd delight and pleasure known. t ihe mad poets say whate'er they please the swecis of Faeries, Peris, Goddesses, MTe is not such a treat among ihirm all, iimlcrs of cavern, lake, and walerfnll, . a rial woman. lineal inilccd Paet I.] LAMIA. 23 1 As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all, 350 Throughout her palaces imperial. And all her i>opulous streets and temples lewd, Mutter'd, like tempest in the distance brew'd. To the wide-spreaded night above her towers. Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours, 355 Shuffled their sandals o'er the pavement white. Companioned or alone ; while many a light FlarM, here and there, from wealthy festivals. And threw their moving shadows on the walls. Or found them clustered in the cornic'd shade 360 Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade. Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear. Her fingers he press'd hard, as one came near With curPd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown, Slow-stepp'd, and rob'd in philosophic gown : 365 Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past. Into his mantle, adding wings to haste. While hurried Lamia trembled: ** Ah," said he, •Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully? * Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew.^" — 370 • I'm wearied," said fair Lamia : *» tell me who * Ls that old man? I cannot bring to mind • His features : — Lycius ! wherefore did you blind • Yourself from his quick eyes? " Lycius reply'd, * 'Tis Apollonius sage, my tnisty guide 375 * And good instructor ; but to-night he seems • The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams." While yet he spake they had arrived before A pillar d porch, with lofty portal door. Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow 380 Reflected in the slabbed steps below, Mild as a star in water ; for so new, (363) The manuscript reads — And pressing hard her fingers, one came near... (371) The manuscript has/r^v who instead of /!] ihiiik?'" relurn'd she tenderly; ■ li.-iTitd me; — where am 1 now? < ir lieari while care weighs on your brow; .1, I. . .'Ill have dismisa'd me; and 1 go 1 ■ ,1 . ■ ;i liM-.-Lsi houseless: aye, il must be so." ■ ■ I :!, bi'iiiling to her open eyes, v. ,-; ruiiror'd small in paradise, '.!■. -.iKir planet, both of eve and morn [ Why Hill you plead yourself ao sad forlorn. While I am striving how to fill my heart With deeper crimson, and a double smart? flow lo entangle, trammel up and snare soul in, mine, and labyrinth you there Like the hid scent in an unbudded n '■ Aye, t kiss — you see your mighty w Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung. To change his purpose. He thertat was stung. Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim Her wild and timid nature to his aim ; Besides, for all lib love, in self despite. Against his belter self, lie took delight Ijjxurious in her sorrows, soft and new. His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue Fierce and sanguineous as 'twas possible In one whose brow )iad no riajk veins lo swell. Fine was the mitigated fury, like Apollo's presence when in act lo strike The serpent — Ha, ihe serpent ! cerles, she Was none. She burnt, she lov'd tlie tyranny, (67) Cancelled niamiscripl reading, ol hii pmpesi for at Ail mrdi. \ii) Inllie tnanusciipt, in place of lines Sa 10 105. 1 he luIbMingwei Became herself a flame — 'iw.is wonh an age 0( minor joyi lo rcvul in sutli rage. She »as persuaded, and she fi.sl ilic hour When he shuiilil make n Biiite of liis lair Paramour. Aflerlhehot[lli'st da* cnmvs Inngiiidest The colour'd Eve, half-hidden In llie west ; So lh« both loi'k d, so sp.iku, if briMlhcd sound, TiMt aimiKl sUi'nue is, h.uli everlnund OHnpare wiih natiin.-'i qiil<-l. \Vlil<;h lov'd most, Wlilch had llio ueako!^), siriHiBesi, henri so loil, So min'd, wn-cli'd, dcuroy'd : for eenes iliuy Scarcely cniild (ell tliey could nol gueu Whether 'liia* iniserv or luppinfss. Spells at<- I1UI iii-idu 10 liteuk. Whisner'd the Youth "Sure some awnrl name thou hast ; though by ray Inllh " I had nul nsk'd it, ever thinking Ihee "Nol morial l>ul of hiMvenly pruguny, "As still i do. H.ist any niorlal namt? "Kit silver appclLilion for this daiiling frame? ** Or friends, or kinsfolks on Ihe citied Earth, " To share our marriage le.-ist and nu|>ttal mirth? " " 1 have no frieni'- " —'■' ' ■ — " " "■ " "Inlreal your m: SlKfelloslceii. a Of deep sleep in a mumeni was ueirayo. Before this was all srnick out and remodelled according 10 Ihe text, KeaU cancelled Old Apollonius. Lyclus i^norani Khn Strange ihoi^ht had led her lo an end as in llie teit, lines 103-5. |And. All subdu'd. consented to the hour I to the bridal he should lead his paramour. BWhispering in miduight silence, said the youth, '• Sure some sweet name thou hasi, though, by my trnlh, '> I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee "Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny, >■ As still I do. Hast any mortal name, " Fit appellation for ihis dazzling frame? " Or friends or kinsfolk on the cilied earth, " To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?" " I have no friends," said Lamia, '■ no, not one; '■ My presence In wide Corinth hardly known: '■ My parents' bones are in their dusty urns " Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns, " Seeing all their luckless race are dt:ad, save me, " And I neglect the holy rite for thee. '■ Even as you list invite your many guests ; With an\ pleasure on nje. do not bid Old Apollonius — from him keep me hid." I rj [ei d It words so blind and blank, 1 I ir\ from whose touch she shrank, ] and he lo the (lull shade Pait n.] LAMIA, 237 Came, and who were her subtle servitors. About the halls, and to and from the doors. There was a noise of wings, till in short s{)ace 120 The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched grace. A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade. Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade 125 Of palm and plantain, met from either side. High in the midst, in honor of the bride : Two palms and then two plantains, and so on. From either side their stems branched one to one All down the aisled place ; and beneath all 130 There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall. So canopyM, lay an untastcd feast Teeming with odours. Lamia, regal drest. Silently pac'd about, and as she went, In pale contented sort of discontent, 135 Missioned her viewless servants to enrich The fretted splendour of each nook and niche. Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first. Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees, 140 And with the larger wove in small intricacies. Approving all, she faded at self-will. And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still. Complete and ready for the revels rude. When dreadful guests would come to spoil her solitude. 145 The day appearM, and all the gossip rout. O senseless Lycius ! Madman ! wherefore flout The silent-blessing fate, warm cloistered hours. And show to common eyes these secret bovvers? The herd approached; each guest, with busy brain, 1 50 Arriving at the portal, gaz'd amain. fX2i) Cancelled manuscript readin|r, hij^h-Iamp'dU^x ,t;loioing, (xa2-4) Hunt notes (see Appendix) — "This is the very quintessence of the romantic*' (133) Cancelled manuscript readings, Teeming a perfume, Kxxd Teeming wing* d odours, (138) Rejected reading, Tfrt/z/Tr^rt/ifrf for marbUd plain, (146) In the manuscript the words came soon are struck out in favour of ti^ea^d, ( 150) The manuscript reads The Herd arriv'd, the word arri%fd being substi- tuted for came, and* ntcr'd ninrwling; for Ihey knew the street, iRomembcr'd it rmm cliildhood all complete (Wilhuut a gap, jel ne'er befoic had seen (lyal porch, that high-built fair demesne; ISo in they hurried all, maz'd, curious and keen: one, who look'd thereon «ith eye severe, i\ilh calm -pi anted steps walk'd in austere; tTwas Apollonius: something too he laugh'd, ' s though some knotty problem, that had daft p-iis patieitl thought, had now begun to thaw, lAnd solve and mtit : — twas just as lie foresaw. vestibule rale. ■ f'jF uninvited guest .. ' <>n you, and infest :.iiM-nce the bright throng ■ ■ : vei mu9l I do this wroDg, -■ Lycius blush'd, and led . ii^ii ihu inner doors broad-spread; ^ Uijids and couneoua mien ltd milk the sophist's spleen. Pakt nj LAMIA. 239 Twelve sphered tables, by silk scats inspher'd. High as the level of a man's breast rear'd On libbard's paws, upheld the heavy gold 185 Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told Of Ceres' horn, and, in huge vessels, wine Come from the gloomy tun with merry shine. Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood, Elach shnning in the midst the image of a God. I90 When in an antichamber every guest Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure press'd. By ministering slaves, upon his hands and feet, And fragrant oils with ceremony meet Pour'd on his hair, they all mov'd to the feast 195 In white robes, and themselves in order plac'd Around the silken couches, wondering Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth could spring. Soft went the music the soft air along. While fluent Greek a vowel'd undersong 200 Kept up among the guests, discoursing low At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow ; But when the happy vintage touched their brains, Louder they talk, and louder come the strains Of powerful instruments : — the gorgeous dyes, 205 The space, the splendour of the draperies, The roof of awful richness, nectarous cheer, Beautiful slaves, and Lamia's self, appear. Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed. And every soul from human trammels freed, 210 No more so strange ; for merry wine, sweet wine, Will make Elvsian shades not too fair, too divine. Soon was God Hacchus at meridian height ; Flushed were their cheeks, and bright eyes double bright: Garlands of every green, and every scent 215 From vales deflowerM, or forest-trees branch-rent, In baskets of bright osier'd gold were brought High as the handles heap'd, to suit the thought (203) Cancelled reading, Sicilian vintage, (ai8->i9) Cancelled reading — High as the handles hcap'd, of every sort Of fragrant wreath, that each as he did please.. :ry guest ; that each, as he did please, I Might fancj-fit his brows, silk-pillow'd ai his ease. at wreath for Lamia? What for Lyciusf I What for ihi.- sage, old Apollonius? 1 Upon her aching forehead be there hung I The leave.* of willow and of adder's tongue ; 1 And for the youth, quick, let us strip for him I The th)'rsus, that his watching eyes may swim I Into forgctfulness ; and, for the sage. I Lei spear-grass and the spitefijl thistle wage I War on his temples. Do not all charms fly I At the mere touch of cold philosophy? was an awful rainbow once in heaven: I We know her woof, her texture ; she is given I In the dull catalogue of common things. I Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, I Conquer all mysteries by rule and hne, I Empty the haunted air, and gnomcd mine — I Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made I The tender-pcrson'd Lamia melt into a shade. By her glad Lsci ting, in chief place. Part il] LAMIA. 24 1 Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins; Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains Of an unnatural heat shot to his heart. •'Lamia, what means this? Wherefore dost thou start? •• Know'st thou that man? " Poor Lamia answered not. 255 He gaz'd into her eyes, and not a jot Own'd they the lovelorn piteous appeal : More, more he gaz'd: his human senses reel: Some hungry spell that loveliness absorbs ; There was no recognition in those orbs. 260 •• Lamia!'' he cry'd — and no soft-ton'd reply. The many heard, and the loud revelry Grew hush ; the stately music no more breathes ; The myrtle sicken'd in a thousand wreaths. By faint degrees, voice, lute, and pleasure ceased; 265 A deadly silence step by step increased. Until it seem'd a horrid presence there, And not a man but felt the terror in his hair. *♦ Lamia ! " he shriek'd ; and nothing but the shriek With its sad echo did the silence break. 270 «* Begone, foul dream ! " he cry'd, gazing again In the bride's face, where now no azure vein Wander 'd on fair-spac'd temples ; no soft bloom Misted the cheek ; no passion to illume The deei>-recessed vision : — all was blight ; 275 Lamia, no longer fair, there sat a deadly white. ** Shut, shut those juggling eyes, thou ruthless man I •* Turn them aside, wretch ! or the righteous ban *» Of all the Gods, whose dreadful images •« Here represent their shadowy presences, 280 •* May pierce them on the sudden with the thorn •* Of painful blindness; leaving thee forlorn, •* In trembling dotage to the feeblest fright ** Of conscience, for their long offended might, •« For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries, 285 •' Unlawful magic, and enticing lies. •* Corinthians ! look upon that grey-beard wretch ! •« Mark how, possessed, his lashless eyelids stretch ••Around his demon eyes ! Corinthians, see! ••My sweet bride withers at their potency." 290 •* Fool ! " said the sophist, in an under-tone (354-5) I^ the manuscript, Wherefore dost so start ? Dost know that Man ? f26o) Cancelled reading, is for was. LA.'^IA. riiTjtT wiih conlcTnpl; which a death -nlghing moan Frum l.;uiui .iii:.«i:r'ri, as heart-slruck and lost. Hi; s.iiik Mi|)iiii.' Iieside llic aching ghosl. ■ ^'^)lll ; I'ool 1 " rL'pealed he, while his eyes stilt §KL-lLiiltd [lol, nor movd ; >• from every ill lift have 1 preserv'd thee to this day, d shall I sue Ihee made A serpent's prey?" Lamia bieaiird death l>reath ; the sophist's eye, jLikc a sharp spt-ar. went through her utterly, , cmd, perccanl, slinging; she, as wdl IAs jier n'eak liaiid could any meaning tell, lAlolion'd liim to bo silent; vainly so, IHo look'd aiitl iook'd again a level — No ! "Aserpunt!" echoed he j no sooner said, BTliau with a frightful scream she vanislied; lAntI Lyciim' arms were empty of delight, IAs were hi.« limh^ of life, from that same night. BOn the high couch he lay! — his friends came round — ISupported him — no pulse, or breath they found. |And, in its marriage robe, the heavy body wound. ISABELLA; OR, THE POT OF BASIL. A STORY FROM BOCCACCIO. [In a letter to Reynolds dated the 27th of April 181 8, Keats says, •• I have written for my folio Shakspeare, in which there are the first few stanzas of my • Pot of Basil.' 1 have the rest here, finished, and will copy the whole out fair shortly, and George will bring it you. The compliment is paid by us to Boccace, whether we publish or no..." The folio Shakspeare, now in Sir Charles Dilke's hands, contains no stanzas of Isabella^ so it is to be presumed they were only loose in the book. Again on the 3rd of May 181 8, Keats writes to Reynolds, *•! have written to George for the first stanzas of my * Isabel.' I shall have them soon, and will copy the whole out for you." And, in a letter to Bailey dated the loth of June, he i-ays, •* J want to read you my • Pot of Basil.' " This all points to the recent completion of the poem ; and Lord Houghton records on the authority of Brown that it was only just completed when the friends started on their Scotch tour in June. On the 14th of February 18 19, he promised to send the poem out to his brother George, with other recent work. It is necessary to be particular about this point, be- cause Leigh Hunt when reviewing iMtnia, Isabella, &c., made the unaccountable statement (see Appendix) that the poems in this volume **were almost all written four years ago, when the author was but twenty." The allusion to Boccaccio, Lord Houghton ex- plains by telling us that Keats and Reynolds projected a volume of tales versified from that author. Two by Reynolds were published in The Garden of Florence y &c. (1821). In view of the unachieved (243) ISABELLA. c of joint authorship, Ihe following sentences from the Preface ■tiolils's volume should stand associated with Isabella: — he stories from Boccacio (The Garden of Florence, and The Bye of Provence) were to have been associated with tales from the source, intended to have been written by a friend; — but ill- n his part, and distracting engagements on mine, prevented n accomplishing our plan at the lime; and Death now, to my iorrow, has frustrated it for ever! He, who is gone, was one very kindest friends I possessed, and yet he was not kindei ■laps to me, than to others. His intense mind and powerful would, 1 truly believe, have done ihe world some service, had Blife been spared — but he was of too sensitive a nature — and thus LS destroyed ! One story he completed, and that is to me now ost pathetic poem in existence ! " s likely enough that Keats copied out Isabella as he intended. |the friend who wrote this about it after all was over. But as yet re not succeeded in tracing any complete manuscript of the Mr. R. A. Potts possesses what would seem to be two irag- i of the original draft. This manuscript is of Stanias xxx ,, exclusive of Stanza XXXIi ; two leaves, one shorter than the ' by Ihe length of a stania, written upon both sides of the r. and probably having lost stanza xxxii with stanza xxix at I back of il by a stroke of those generous .sci-tsars wherewith ISABELLA ; OK, THE POT OF BASIL. I. FAIR Isabel, poor simple Isabel! Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye ! They could not in the self-same mansion dwell Without some stir of heart, some malady ; They could not sit at meals but feel how well It soothed each to be the other by ; They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep But to each other dream, and nightly weep. II. With every morn their love grew tenderer, With every eve deeper and tenderer still ; He might not in house, field, or garden stir, But her full shape would all his seeing fill ; And his continual voice was pleasanter To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill ; Her lute-string gave an echo of his name, She spoilt her half-done broidery with the same. III. He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch. Before the door had given her to his eyes; And from her chamber- window he would catch Her beauty farther than the falcon spies ; And constant as her vespers would he watch. Because her face was turn'd to the same skies ; And with sick longing all the night outwear, To hear her morning-step upon the stair. i6 ISABELLA. IV. A whole loni; month of May ia this sad plight Made llii^ir cheeks paler by the break of June; " To-morrow will I bow to my delight, '■ To-morrow will 1 ask my lady's boon." — •' O may 1 never see another night, '• Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love's lune," — So sjiake ihcy to their pillows ; but, alas, Honeylcss days and days did he let pass j V. Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek Fell sick within the rose's just domain. Fell thin as a young mother's, who doth seek By every lull to cool her infant's pain : " How ill she ia." said he, '■ I may not speak, ■■ And yet 1 will, and tell my love all plain : ■■If looks speak love-laws, 1 will drink her tears, ■■ And at the least 'twill startle off her cares." VIII. "O Isabella. I can half perceive "That 1 may speak my grief into thine ear; ** If Ihou didst ever any thing believe, " Ilelieve how I love ihee, believe how near *• My soul is to its doom : I would not grieve " Thy hand by unwelcome pressing, would nu " Thine- eyes by gazing; but 1 cannot live ■' Anotlier night, and not my passion shrive. IX. " Love ! thou art leading me from wintry cold, " Lady ! thou leadest mc to summer clime, "And I musi taste the blossoms that unfold '• In its ripe warmth Ihi.s gracious morning tin So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold, And puesied with hers in dewy rhyme; Great bliss was with them, and great happiness Grew, like a lusty flower in June's caress. Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air. Twin roses by the lephyr blown apart Only to meet again more close, and share The inward fragrance of each other's heart. She, to her chamber gone, a ditty fair Sang, of delicious love and honey'd dart ; He nhh light steps went up a western hill. And bade the sun farewell, and joy'd his fill. XI, All close they met again, before the dusk Had taken from the stars its plea.sant veil. All close they met, all eves, before the dusk Had taken from the stars Its pleasant veil. Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk, Unknown of any, free from whispering talc. Ah ! beiler had it been for ever so. Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe. },3 ISABELLA. XII. Were Ihey unhappy then? — It cannot be — Ton many tears for lovers have been shed. Too many sighs give we to them in fee. Too much of pity after they are dead. Too Tinany doleful stories do we see, Wliose matter in bright gold were best be read; Kxeepi in sucii a page where Theseus' spouse Ovi^r the pathless waves towards him bows. XIII. But. for the general award of love, The tittle sweet doth kill much bitterness; Though Uido silent is in under-grove. And l.sabella's was a great distress. Though young Loren/o in warm Indian clove Was not embalm'd, this truth is not the less Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers, Know there is richest juice in poison- flowers. XVI. Why were they proud? Because tnelr marble founts Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears? — Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs? — Why were they pioud? Because red-lin'd accounts Were richer than the songs of Grecian years? — Why were they proud? again we ask aloud, Why in the name of Glory were they proud? XVII. Yet were these Florentines as self-retired In hungry pride and gainful cowardice, As two close Hebrews in that land inspired, Pal'd in and vineyarded from beggar-spies ; The hawks of ship-mast forests — the untired And pannier'd mules for ducats and old lies- Quick cat's-paws on the generous stray-away, — Great wits in Spanish, Tuscan, and Malay. XVIII. How was it these same ledger-men could spy Fair Isabella in her downy nest? How could they find out in Lorenzo's eye A straying from his toil? Hot Egypt's pest Into their vision covetous and sly I How could these money-bags see east and west?— Yet so they did — and every dealer fair Must see behind, as doth the hunted hare. XIX. O eloquent and famed Boccaccio I Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon. And of thy spicy myrtles as ihey blow. And of thy roses amorous of the moon. {xvtil) ll maybe questioned whether lines ■>' '^'^ smnc with Unit. Inla, however, Is Ibe reading ol all editions wi qnainted. ISABELLA. And of lln- liilios. that do paler grow Noiv lliey can no more hear th)' ghiltern's tune, For vtniuring syllables that ill lieseera Tlie quiet gltwins of such a piteous Iheme. XX. Craut ihou a pnrdon here, and then the tale Shall move on soberly, as it is meet; There is no other crinjc, no mad assail To iiiake old prose in modern rhyme more sweet 1 lliil it is done — succeed the verse or fail — To honour Ihee, and thy gone spirit greet ; To hlLMd ihee as a verse in English tongue, All echo of ihee in the north-wind sung. XXI. These brethren having found by many sign* What love Lorenio for their sister had. And how she lov'd him too, each uncontineB His hitler thoughts to other, well nigh mad That he. the ser\-ant of their trade designs, lihould in their sister's love be blithe and glad, ISABELLA. Of the garden -terrace, towards him they bent Their footing through the dews; and lo httn said, " You seem there in the quiet of content, " Lorenzo, and we are most loth to invade ■* Calm s|>eculalion ; but if you are wise, *' Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies. XXIV. " To-day we purpose, aye, this hour we mount " To spur three leagues towards tlie Apennine; " Come down, we pray thee, ere llie hot sun couat " His dewy rosary on the eglantine." Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont, [k)w'd a fair greeting lo these serpents' whine; And went in h;inte, to get in readiness. With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman's dress. XXV. And as he to the court-yard iiass'd along. Each third step did he pause, and lislen'd oft If he could hear his lady's matin-song. Or the light whisper of her footstep soft ; And as he thus over his passion hung. He heard a lau){li full musical aloft \ When, looking up. he saw her features bright Smile through an in-door lattice, all delight. XXVI. " Love, Isabel ! " said he, " I was in pain " Lest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow: " Ah ! what if 1 should lose thee, when so fain " I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow (XXIV] Hum cites ilie "ciqiti^iie mvlaphor" of lines j and 4 as an instance ii which Keats ■■ovcr-infurnis the otuiision or the speaker." Bui I riouhl whether i ii fair to class this kin J ol " ovrr-intomiing " rs an error. [I pvoptcol tliis kind or to be denied one eleinenl of poetry, Ilicy niusi Iw denied anoilicr; and it Is scarcel more strange 10 Rnd die vile brethren of Isabella talking in metaphor ihsn to fin< " Of a poor three hours" absftnce? but we'll gain " Out of Ihe amorous dark what day dolh borrow. " r>ood bye: I'll soon be back," — "Good bye !" said sbc : ' Aad as he went she chanted merrily. XXVII. So the two brothers and their murder'd man Kode past fair Florence, to where Arno's Dircam Gurgles through straitcn'd banks, and still doth fail Itself with dancing bulrush, and the bream Keeps head against the freshets. Sick and wan The brothers' faces in the ford did seem, Lorenzo's flush with love. — They pasa'd the water Into a forest quiet for the slaughter. XXVI II. ere was Lorenzo slain and buried in, rhi;re in ih.il fore-st did his great love cease; ; when a soul dolh thus its freedom win, t aches in loneliness — is ill at peace As the break-covert blood-hounds of such sin ; ISABELLA. She weeps alone for pleasures not to be ; Sorely she wept until the night came on, And then, instead of love. O misery ! She brooded o'er the luxury alone: His image in the dusk she seem'd to see. And to the silence made a gentle moan, Spreading her perfect arms upon the air. And on her couch low munnuring "Where? O where?" XXXI. But SelAshness, Love's cousin, held not long Its fierj- vigil in her single breast : She fretted for the golden hour, and hung Upon the time with feverish unrest — Not long — for soon into her heart a throng Of higher occupants, a richer zest. Came tragic ; passion not to be subdu'd. And sorrow for her love in travels rude. XXX 11. Itt the mid days of autumn, on their eves The breath of Winter comes from far away. And the sick west continually bereaves Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay Of death among the bushes and the leaves, To make all bare before he dares to stray From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel By gradual decay from beauty fell, \XXX) The manuscripi ri.-ails wrpi for wtefi in line i ; and line What might havu bwn loo plainly did she sec. (XXXI) In lines a and 3 ihe manuscript shows the cancelled re lis fiery vigil in her native Mind For joy cscap'd she mourn'd. I* lines 7 and 8 ihere is ihe rejected reading — Passions not to be subdued Eialling her lo paticnl Fanilnde» and again — A yearning for her Love. ISABELLA. XXXIll. Because Lorenzo c3me not. Oftenlimes Shu .isk'd her brothers, ^¥ilh an eye aJ! pale, Slriviii^ lu be ilsulf, what dungeon dimes Could kcL-p him off so long? They spake a tale Time after time, to quiet her. Their crimes Came on them, like a smoke from Hinnom's vale; And every night in dreams they groan'd aloud. To see iheir sister in her snowy shroud. XXXIV. And she h:id died in drowsy ignorance, Dut Tor a thing more deadly dark than all; U came like a fierce potion, drunk bv chance, Whieli .saves a sick man from Ihe fcather'd psll For some few gasping moments ; like a lance, Waking an InSian from his cloudy hall With cniel pierce, and bringing him again Sense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain. x.vxv. ISABELLA. 25s Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears Had made a miry channel for his tears. XXXVI. Strange sound it was, when the pale shadow spake; For there was striving, in its piteous tongue. To spuak as when on earth it was awake. And Isabella on its music hung: Languor there was in it, and tremuloas shake. As in a palsied Druid's haq> unstrung ; And through it moan'd a ghostly under-song. Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briars among. XXXVII. Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright With love, and kept .ill phantom fear aloof From the poor girl by magic of their light, The while it did unthread the horrid woof Of the late darken'd time, — the murderous spile Of pride and avarice, — the dark pine roof In the forest, — and the sodden turfed dell, Where, without any word, from slabs he fell. XXXVIII. Saying moreover, " Isabel, my siveel ! '• Red whortie -berries droop above my head, " And a large flint-Wone weighs upon my feet ; " Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed ' ' Their leaves and prickly nuts ; a sheep-fold bleat ■' Comes from beyond the river to my bed : (xxxvi) In line i there i» the cancelled leaAmg Slran^-i 7kii t/u soKntI ; AXiA foot for fale stiinds in the manuscript. l,inc 5 opens with niiini thm iva! m it, and did open witli And lAtrt ivas Lavi in li. Line 7 begins with But in the manuscript. (XXXVII) The manuscript reads Aan in line 3. (xxxvin) In line 6, inslead of river, the manuscript reads Ano (for Amo) ; and the final couplet is — Go shed a tear upon my helhcr bloom No doubt / should Ik •! ; but / is very plainly written. ISABELLA. •■ Go. slitd one tear upon my healher-bloom, ■■ And it shall tomfort me within the tomb. XXX IX. " I am a shadow now, alas ! alas ! ■■ Upon tht skirts of hutnan-nalure dwelling *■ Alone : I chant alone the holy mass, '■ While linle sounds of life are round me knelling, " And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass, ■' And many a diapel bell the hour is telling. " Paining me through : those sounds grow strange to me. " And ihou art distant in Humanity. XL. ■' 1 Vnow what was, I feel fvUl well what is, ■■ And 1 should rage, if spirits could go mad; " Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss, >■ That paleness warms my grave, as though I had " A Seraph tliiwen from the bright abyss •■ Tr) Ih- riiv -iimuse; Ihy paleness makes me glad; " Thy l...u.!^ i:.,>-v.s upon me. and 1 feel ISABELLA. XLII. •' Ha ! ha ! " said she, '• I knew not this hard Bfc, " I ihought ihe worst was simple misery ; '• 1 thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife " Portion'd us — happy days, or else to die; " llui there is crime — a brother's bloody knife ! " Sweet Spirit, thou hasl school'd my infancy: " I'll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes, '■ And greet thee morn and even in the skies." XLIII. When the ^tll morning came, she had devised How she might secret to the forest hie ; How she might find the day, so dearly prized. And sing to It one latest lullaby ; How her short .ibsence might be unsurmised. While she the inmost of the dream would try. Resolv'd, she took with her an aged nurse. And went into that dismal forest-hearse. XLIV. See, as they creep along the river side, How she doth whisper to that aged Dame, And, after looking round the champaign wide. Shows her a knife " What feverous hectic flame " Burns in thee, child ? — - What good can thee betide, " Thai thou should'st smile again? " — The evening laniei And they had found Loren«)'s earthy bed ; The flint was there, the berries at his head. XLV. Who hath not loiter'd in a green church-yard. And let his spirit, like a demon-mole. Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard, To see scull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stele; Pitying each form that hungry Death hath man-'d. And filling it once more with human soul? Ah ! this is holiday to what was felt When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt. XLVI. inXa the fresh-thrown mould, aa though ici^ did fully all its secrets [ell ; ; saw. as other eyes would know lis at bottom of a crystal well; iiunlL-rous spot she seem'd to grow, ii nalive lilly of the dell: her knife, all sudden, she began re fervently than misers can. XLVII. Soon she lum'd up a soiled glove, whereon IlcT silk had play'd in purple phantasies, She kjss'd it with a lip more chill than stone, And put it in her bosom, where it dries And freezes utterly unto the bone Those dainties made to still an infant's crii Thi'n 'gan she work again ; nor stay'd her ca L to throw back at limes her veiling hair. ISABELLA. XLIX. Ah ! wherefore all this wormy circumstance? Why linger at the yawning tomb so long? O for Ihe gentleness of old Romance, The simple plaining of a minslrel's song ! Fair reader, at the old tale talce a glance. For here, in truth, it doth not well belong To speak ; — O turn ihee to the very tale. And taste the music of that vision pale. L. With duller steel than the Persian sword They cut away no formless monster's head. But one, whose gentleness did well accord With death, as life. The ancient harps have said. Love never dies, but lives, immortal Lord : If Love impersonate was ever dead, Pale Isabella kiss'd it, and low moan'd. Twas love; cold, — dead indeed, but not dethron'd. LI. In anxious secrecy tliey took it home, And then the prize was all for Isabel: She calm'd its wild hair with a golden comb. And all around each eye's sepulchral cell Pointed each fringed lash ; the smeared loam With tears, as chilly as a dripping well. She drench'd away ; — and still she comb'd, and kept Sighing all day — and still she kiss'd, and wept. LII. Then in a silken scarf, — sweel with the dews Of precious flowers pluck'd in Araby, And divine liquids come with odorous ooze Through ihe cold serpent-pipe refreshfully, — She wrapp'd it up; and for its tomb did choose A garden-pot, wherein she laid il by, (X\AX) "The TCiy lale" will be found in the Appendix for such ai ISABE1J.A. And covet"d it with mould, and o'er it set Swctt Basil, which her tears kepi ever wet. LIII. And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun, And she forgot the blue above the trees. And she forgot Ihe dells where waters run. And -ihe forgiit the chilly autumn breeie; Shi- li.iil nil knowledge when the day was done, Aiiil :Ih' ni'W morn she saw not : but in peace \h